[h1]"I'd rather not have to fight you, if it's all the same to you."[/h1] Name: Desdemona Keller - Pronunciation: (Dez-dëy-mōn-uh) Nickname(s): Just Desdy Age: 26 Gender: Female Race: Banshee, Siren class. Height: 5'7" Weight: 130lbs Build of Body: Her frame is delicate underneath her curves, and she has long limbs, all ending in a delicate set of digits. Everything about her figure screams "fragility". Her face is round, almost oval in shape, and her facial features are delicate and soft. Skin Color: A translucent and creamy white, with an almost permanent blush. Eye Color: A vivid and electric blue, similar to the color of the ocean when it's calm. Hair: Deep, vibrant red the color of lycoris, or maybe the color of brilliant red roses and long, usually tangled, waves that fall down to the center of her back, curling slightly at the bottom. Scars: Across the backs of both hands, she has has light pink scars in swirling patterns, carved into them long ago. They match the ones across her cheek and forehead. Distinguishing Physical Features: The darkened skin around her eyes, a similar shade to her hair, is the only noticeable feature in the light. However, the moment the sky begins to darken, or when she walks into an unlit room, her pale skin begins to glow from the inside, similar to that of a deep sea creature's bioluminescence. Style Typical Upper Body Wear: 1. Simple, ruffled blouses in dark hues 2. Dark tunics, belted at the waist 3. A tight, leather armoured vest is always beneath her shirt, just in case. Typical Lower Body Wear: 1. Long, billowy pants, usually black 2. Thick leggings, usually bound around her calves. 3. A pair of leather grieves always guard her legs. Typical Winter Attire: 1. A long purple cloak made of heavy material with a short, fur lined cape to top it. 2. A pair of men's trousers over her usual leggings. 3. A long sleeved tunic belted at the waist, lined with fur. Typical Shoes: 1. Usually, she wears a pair of skin tight, soft leather boots, with a flat bottom. Heels don't allow for running easily. 2. When indoors, she relinquishes her boots for a pair of soft, slipper style shoes. Typical Outerwear 1. Her only outerwear not reserved for winter is her lightweight purple cloak, which she constantly wears with the hood raised. Weapons and Armour 1. Although she strongly opposes violence, Desdy carries a small Celtic style dagger in a holster on her thigh. 2. In addition to her daily, leather under armour, Desdy possesses a full set of battle armour from her time as an indentured soldier. Personality: At her core, Desdemona is gentle and serious. She has a great sense of humor, but rarely applies it to her actual conversations. She is generally straight forward, always answering questions with absolute conviction. She is generally very open to people, except when her past is touched upon. She has no difficulties trusting people at face value, but once her trust is broken. It is rarely earned again. She is loyal to the end, and if you earn her friendship or love, she would never willingly abandon you. Temperament: Although she is generally a peaceful, and frankly sweet, person, she has been known to flare up and become a force of anger unlike any other. Although she has a playful side that she displays in private, she is polite and calm around people in public. Nervous tics: When under stress or particularly nervous/anxious, Desdy tends to tap her fingers at a fast pace against her thigh. If she is near the point of a meltdown, she will cross her arms and bounce on her heels while darting her eyes around the space she is in, looking for the best exit. General attitude: Serious, calm, and polite describe Desdy perfectly. Her attitude in public is generally restrained, giving her a cold, almost aloof mask. Though, contradictory to the previous, she tends to be nearly submissive to the wishes of others, following any order or request made to her, given the person is not forceful about it. Dislikes: Desdemona hates violence intensely. Her whole philosophy is against it, in one way or another, though she is a skilled fighter. She has a rather strong dislike for overly touchy people, and she really does not like being asked about her past. Bitter tasting drinks, sour foods, and dresses all make their way onto her list of irritating things, as does arrogance, argumentive behaviour, and being talked down to. She also dislikes riding horseback, something she never seems able to escape doing. She finds war distasteful, and feels no shortage of disgust for those who profit off it. Bright colors often hurt her oversensitive eyes, so she tends to shy away from them. She stays away from crowded areas, because of the headache she gets due to the constant noise. Being touched without consent is also a big no no for her, and she does not enjoy being stared at. Hobbies: Desdy has never had a real chance to develop any hobbies, but now that she is in Etirath, she hopes to find enough peace to allow this. Likes: Though her list of dislikes is long enough, her list of interests is surprisingly lacking. She has a vague interest in music, and intends to try to learn to play one of the many instruments she's heard in her travels. She likes to try different kinds of foods as well, something that was actually brought to her attention through her travels. She has a love of dark colors, and has a near child-like joy in being able to travel on her own/with a companion of her choosing. Personal motto: "Even though it's the easiest way out, violence is a last resort." Etiquette: Desdy's manners are, if not perfect, the closest thing to perfect they could be. She is rather hesitant still, when dealing with others, and tends to be submissive to others' cultural practices. Outlook on Life: Despite her experiences, Desdy tries to have a good outlook. She is certain the future is brighter than her past, and she is determined to run to the light that is waiting for her. Morality: Because of the same experiences that shaped her outlook, she possesses a strong sense of morality. She could never strike someone as they turned their back, nor could she ever hurt an unarmed party. She believes highly in equality between sexes, as well as between social classes. Intellectual Characteristics Intelligence Level: Though she never had any true schooling, her level of intelligence is slightly higher than average. Her knowledge is mostly gained through experience, and therefore more permanently ingrained in her. Manner of Writing: It shames her to admit it, but though she can read, her writing is atrocious. Her handwriting is the main issue, being illegible at best. Extremely Unskilled At: Though she moves easily and almost beautifully in combat, she has absolutely no other grace, which in turn leads to a complete inability to dance, or sometimes, even walk. This lack of grace causes her to have trouble staying on a horse as well. Abilities/Skills Logical: One of Desdy's strongest abilities is that of simple common sense. She knows how to look at a situation and come to the quickest decision on if she should interfere, if she should run away, or if she should stand her ground. Artistic: Desdy has artistic talents, though she has yet to explore them. In the past, when she could get her hands on some ink and paper, she had proven to be rather talented with creating portraits. Musical: Although it activates her "gift" far too often, one of her true talent is, ironically, singing. Her voice, usually soft and full of tenderness, becomes both strong and emotional, captivating everyone who hears. She tends to use this to stun people and help avoid conflicts, as it has a fifty percent chance of throwing people off their guard. Combat: Most of her skills reside in fighting. She is a strategist and a commander, with fast reflexes and an eye for weakness. If there's any to be noted, she will find it and use it the best she can. She has perfected fighting with her short sword, as with her knife, and although her technique is rather dirty and unhonorable, it has never failed to keep her safe. She has basic archery skills and has well enough aim, though she would never rely on it. Magical: As a Siren class Banshee, Desdy was born with enhanced vocal cords that produce special vibrations. These vibrations cause shock waves, paralysis, internal bleeding, and temporary deafness, and sometimes permanent internal damage, though the effects differ from person to person, depending on the frequency and the opponent's own resistance levels. It works best, though, on humans. She also posses enhanced vision and hearing, which only serves to allow her to notice miniscule details and to see further distances and to give her headaches with greater frequency than any other race. Sudden light changes, into extreme darkness and brightness, will temporarily blind Desdy. Overuse of her abilities will cause massive headaches and eventually nosebleeds. In the end, she will pass put from the exertion. She has a bit of difficulty controlling it when she is very emotional as well. Physical: As a Banshee in general, she is gifted with increased speed and agility. She can run nearly as fast as any horse, and she is nearly impossible to land a blow on during a full blown battle. In one on one fights, she's a bit less agile, because she tends to focus harder on her opponents. In exchange for her gift of speed, however, she is less resilient. It takes few hits/wounds to incapacitate her then it would a human. Cooking: To her utter dismay, Desdemona is absolutely incapable of cooking anything edible. She intends to fix this in the near future. Botany: One of the skills that Desdy picked up through "living in the field" during wartimes was botany. She can identify nearly every poisonous and medicinal plant, and she is capable of using them to their fullest extant. Astrology: Desdy has memorized multiple star charts, in order to better navigate the world. In particular, she has memorized the star charts for ocean navigation, as she enjoys long trips out to sea. She learned most of her navigation and botany skills from the older soldiers who took her in and helped "raise" her. She was forced into the kingdom's army at a very young age after the discovery of her abilities, and some of the older, more experienced soldiers were horrified to see such a small child being drafted. They took her under their wings, becoming fathers, mothers, and teachers to the girl. There's a soft whisper as the fabric of the young woman's cloak drags across the dirt road. It is night, but the hood is still pulled up, an attempt to hide the bioluminescence of the woman's skin. She didn't need to alert the sentry to her attempted escape any sooner than was necessary. Thankfully, the bags thrown across her horse's saddle remained silent, the contents unmoving as the horse trotted forward slowly, matching it's rider's own pace. For once, it seemed that everything was going to go according to her plan, and she smiled as her feet moved silently, stealthily along the dirt path. Until they didn't. With a motion so graceless that it was almost beautiful, Desdemona Keller, the last Siren of Umara, tripped over her own feet and fell flat on her face, her cloak billowing out around her. Her horse, who had become accustomed to the silence, reared up and neighed loudly before running at a gallop away from the camp. Not a moment after, the sentry in the watch tower lit his beacon and began to beat on the that hung next to it. The red haired woman scrambled to her feet, rushing after her horse, with the sound of raised shouts and pounding feet growing ever distant behind her. And then she heard the horses. Damn it, of course they'd get the horses. It was the only way they'd be able to catch her. With a rising panic, Desdy sped up, desperate to catch up with her horse, who had begun to slow, calming down now that it was in quieter pastures. Just as the sound of hooves pounding on the road began to echo closer, the siren reached her horse, grabbing ahold of the saddle and leaping up onto it, for once managing not to fall immediately off. Her horse took off like a shot, neighing loudly as it bolted down the road. She had picked the fastest horse from the stables for her escape, knowing they would probably chase her down, but they were still catching up with her. She felt a rush of panic, which she bit back fiercely. If it was a fight they wanted, it was a fight they'd get. She drew her sword from it's sheath, her expression a cross between reluctance and determination. Fighting. Horseback. She had a sudden desire to just forfeit, to return to the emperor's camp and face her punishment. It passed quickly, however, and her expression settled on fierce as her first opponent drew up next to her, his sword raised to strike. She blocked it with her hilt, flicking her wrist to send his sword flying, and with the flat of her blade, she slapped the back of his head, effectively knocking him out. Another rider pulled up on her other side, and she leaned back to avoid the thrust of his sword just as a third soldier rode up to the right again. She looked between the two quickly, her mind processing the possible outcomes. The one to her right carried a set of throwing knives as well as a regular sword, the one to her left, a regulation sword and a short sword. If she disarmed the one to her right and then focused on the one to her left, she would leave herself open to his knives. But if she spent too long trying to knock him off his horse or knock him out, the one to her left would certainly get at least one clean cut. With a sigh, she drew one of her two knives alongside her sword. She threw it to the left, where it buried itself in the rider's neck, and thrust her sword to the right, parrying the other's strike. The man chuckled and tried to disarm her, but she twisted her sword, and his blade glanced off hers. She thrusted, once, under his arm and winced as she felt the blade slice cleanly through the gap in his armour. As she drew her now bloody blade back, the man pulled back on his horse's reigns, falling back as he held the wound on his side. He was quickly replaced, though, with yet another rider. She looked over her shoulder and paled. Thirteen more riders were closing in, but these weren't the typical riders. Dressed from head to foot in gun metal and black with horned helmets, these were the Drakken Riders. They were renowned throughout Umara for their ruthlessness and lack of humanity. The Emperor had sent his assassins and personal guard after her. Which meant one of two things. He either thought she served no further purpose, in which case the Riders would kill her without hesitation, or he wanted her back like nothing else. If that were the case, the Riders would most likely hesitate to even harm her. She threw her attention back to the soldier riding alongside her and felt a small wave of shock. The rider next to her didn't have any weapons drawn, and in fact also seemed to have packed their possessions into the saddle bags. He gave her a flirtatious smile and waved with his fingers. "You didn't think I was going to let you go alone, did you, you little minx?" "Endymion, what are you doing?! They'll kill you, you idiot!" A wave of panic and fear threatened to overwhelm her as her mentor steered his horse closer to hers, until the two were side by side. The older soldier's smile widened, and he shook his head, a bright light in his dark eyes. "I'm not letting you leave alone, kid, and I think I've served his royal idiot for long enough. Thirty years of my life, wasted on this. I'm coming with you, Desdemona." The man tilted his head forward, one of the scars on his neck flashing above the collar of his uniform. Unlike Desdemona, who was a special forces soldier, Endymion was one of the legions, and a commanding officer at that. His uniform was brightly colored, even in the darkness, and was practically a flare declaring his newly traitorous state. Behind them, the Riders were gaining. While she was uncertain of the possibility of them hurting her, she knew fully that they would kill Endymion. Traitors were not tolerated by the crown. Her mind was racing, working double time to try and come up with a plan that would allow them both to survive. With the Riders drawing nearer, she gave up trying to think. With only one option left, she took a deep breath and swiftly dismounted, Endymion's exclamation of surprise lost to the wind as she tumbled over the ground, her cloak wrapping around her like a protective cocoon. She rolled to her feet, her clock billowing out behind her, her hood flapping back. With her luminescent skin now visible to the Riders, they pulled back on their steads, trying to reign them in before it was too late. For them, it was. Her feet planted shoulder width apart, her toes digging into the ground, and her shoulders back, her stance seemed to portray strength and defiance. She tilted her head forward briefly, touching her chin to the hollow of her chest as she did. When her head snapped back up, her eyes were narrow, angry, and the air around her trembled with raw energy she had collected for her attack. Too late, the Riders sensed the tremendous force swirling around the Siren. Hands clenched at her sides, she threw her head forward, a scream of pure rage ripped from her throat. The air in front of her pressurized and then expanded outward at a shocking speed, a wave carrying the ear piercing sound out in a wide spray. There was no chance to flee, no chance to duck below it as it hit the Riders. The vibrations hit full force, rocking the metal clad riders back and off their steads. Several of the thirteen writhed on the ground, drawing their helmets off to clutch at their bleeding ears and noses, while several others laid still on the ground, occasionally twitching, paralyzed and unable to stem their own bleeding. Desdemona turned away, satisfied as she whistled for her horse. A wave of weakness flooded over her after her first step, the headache crashing down on her, nearly incapacitating her. She stumbled and continued on,frankly proud that she hadn't fallen on her face. Trotting toward her at an easy pace, Endymion lead her horse by it's reigns, an unimpressed expression on his face. "Now, was that really necessary, you minx?" "How else were we supposed to get away?" She stumbled again, her horse thankfully close enough for her to lean on for support. Her hair clung to the sides of her face and neck, sweat slicked as they now were, and she tried to push the mess of waves back. They fell forward and nearly covered her face in spite of her attempt, and she raspberries into her saddle, giving up as she slumped against it. Endymion gave her a soft smile and dismounted, walking around their horses to help her get back up. "While I'm grateful, I'm sure there was some way other than- Desdemona, duck!!" She was sluggish, turning slowly to see the Rider behind her, sword raised and already swinging to cut her down. There was a flash of light in her eyes as her memories made themselves known in what was to be her final moments. She saw herself, a child of four, dancing in the shallow waves on the shoreline with her older brother Alexandru. Again, at six, her last happy memory of her parents, cuddling in their bed between them, their voices drifting over her and comforting her as she gave in to sleep. A flash of silver as the eleven year old version of her swung her new short sword, her mentor Endymion showing her how to properly wield it. The memory-pain of her throat burning after using her Siren powers for the first time in battle at the bequest of the emperor. At nineteen, screaming out her broken heart on the cliff at midnight, her first real desire for revenge against the emperor filling the space where the love she had just lost had once been. Twenty-two, her first escape attempt, that resulted in her being publicly lashed fifty times. Twenty-five, last year, opening the gift of her- She felt a hard shove on her shoulder a moment before she hit the ground. She hadn't even settled on the ground when a warm spray of liquid showered over the woman. The silence was heavy as she looked over her shoulder, her brain unable to absorb the images her eyes fed to it. Endymion was laying down on the ground, their horses gone, and the Rider standing, chest heaving as he raised his now bloody sword and turned to her. As it finally hit her, she felt her heart kick in her chest, a rush of anger and despair flooding her. She turned around, still on her knees and screamed, letting go as she threw all she had at the last standing Rider. Though he had survived her previous attack, she doubted that he would survive her current one. The Rider threw a hand up, projecting a field in front of him that bounced her shock wave off in different directions. Desdemona kept up her scream, slowly climbing to her feet, drawing up all of the energy she had left to take this one Rider out. The man was slowly pushed back, his outstretched hand slowly beginning to tremble as he strained against the Banshee's attack. As she advanced, slowly at first but then more surely as anger became the dominant emotion, she drew her remaining knife. With the last burst of energy she could muster, she threw the blade with expert marksmanship. With the power of her vocal vibrations rattling the knight's protective shield, the knife had no trouble shattering the brittle projection. The tip of the blade pierced his neck at the same moment that the last wave of her energy hit him, rupturing veining all over his body. He stood, paralyzed for a brief moment, before his failing body dropped to it's knees, hidden bruises blossoming under his armor. He fell forward, unconscious and soon to die, at the same moment that the Siren herself passed out from exertion. Desdemona woke with a start minutes later, her horse nudging her lightly. It neighed in her ear, as though urging the exhausted woman to her feet. She pressed her hands to the ground, slowly moving until she was kneeling on all fours. Blood dripped from her nose down her chin, puddling on the ground. Her head was thick, foggy, and pounding like a drum. For a moment, it was all she could do to stay in that position, her breathing uneven and her internal system a wreck. The recovery from using her abilities to such an extant usually took days to recover from, though she had really only used them for maybe two minutes, total time. The horse nudged it's stunned master once more, partially kneeling for her to mount him. Though it took her far too long to do so, she managed to tug herself up and onto the saddle, laying across it as she was unable to sit. She laid slack over the saddle, her horse waiting for her to steer it in any direction. With a weak hand, she grabbed onto the reigns and tugged once, leading her stead away from the remains of the battle and out of the valley. As he began to trot her toward freedom, they passed by Endymion's body. He looked peaceful to her tired eyes, but still wrong in his stillness. His eyes were shut, thankfully, and his fatal wound was not visible beneath his uniform. A clean slice to the chest, with barely any tearing of the clothing around it. If nothing else, she could tell his death would have been swift. Judging from the angle, she was certain he had died when the blade had severed his spinal cord. Though she wished she could rest here long enough to regain the strength needed to bury his body, she knew that the emperor would notice soon enough that the Riders were taking far too long to apprehend her, and he would send more of the soldiers after her. There was no time to wait, especially not after her mentor had given his life for hers. He would curse her from the beyond if she wasted a single moment waiting here with his body. She patted her horse lightly on it's flank, her eyes feeling heavy as she turned them from the bloody scene behind her. She let them fall closed, whispering softly as she drifted away, "Take us away from here, Xavier. We'll come back... When it's time... When I'm strong enough... To kill the emperor."