"Either get to the point or get gone.“
Appearance –
Name: Ester Greyjoy
Age: 24
Sex: Lady Bits
Sexual Preference: Heterosexual
Relationships:
Lucio Zapata – Knows him as the mechanic in town, and the god-sent savior of her bike many a’ time. On good terms.
Personality:
Ester comes off as generally irritable, bull headed, and thick skinned. Her social skills are pretty poor, limited to indirect greetings and short, well pointed conversations. She’s not a fan of talking just to talk, at least when she’s sober. Her only obvious good traits are reliability or workmanship, both stemming from the fact that she prefers to do things herself, and isn’t very happy when she can’t. She’s got a horrible temperament, but has learned to manage it better over the years. It’s not unheard of for her to go hunting simply because she’s in a bad mood.
If you manage to find yourself in her good graces, she’s usually kind, though you’ll never notice it outright, and might actually make a small effort to be friendly. She’ll mind your company, try not to scare you off, and maybe even sit down to have a beer or two with you. She doesn’t talk about feelings, but if something’s bothering you and she actually gives two shits, she might try to cheer you up with a small gesture, or drink with you until you feel better. Either is good, in her opinion.
Biography:
Ester was born somewhere down south of Ohio, near the mountains. Her parents, being the more outdoorsy types, were the reason she grew up more familiar with forests than the very town she grew up in. They went camping a lot, and not the sort of camping that allowed them the comforts of a trailer or even air mattresses. Nope, they’d go backpacking for miles on end before she was even 8, where she was expected to carry her own pack, fish, hunt, and navigate on her own. Her parents wanted it to be an educational experience, which it was, but didn’t make it any less grueling of a childhood.
When she entered into high school, her parents finally began to wind down, and the extensive camping trips became fewer and fewer. This left Ester, who’d become accustomed to living outdoors, at the mercy of four walls and an underfunded educational system. It was hell, but it was high school, and she managed through it like she did everything else in her life: with a scowl and good effort. About three months before graduation, she got into a relationship with a boy, who turned out to be a freshly-turned wolf with more than a few impulse issues. It was a full moon, they were alone in his car, and he wanted nothing more than to bite her. Ester freaked out, he got angry, she got angry, and then they started fighting. Long story short, Ester killed her first werewolf that night using only a pocket knife and a car door. She thinks she snapped his neck, but it was dark, and they were both covered in blood.
From there, it was a whirlwind. Ester packed her shit up, got on her bike, and drove off as quickly as she could. She didn’t bother telling her parents anything, as they believed a lot of what the police said the next morning: she’d killed a boy in cold blood. She was a murderer. It hurt her a little to see her parents so sure of the truth in news interviews, but otherwise buried it. It was all drifting from there, a life style she was unsurprisingly well suited for. Somewhere between 19 and 20, she encountered some werewolves who knew the one she killed. He was a part of some pack, apparently, and a large one. It’s what initially drew her into hunting, that and the bitter resentment she unconsciously held towards all werewolves because of the events that happened. It was like a long running game of cat and mouse, one that Ester found some sort of sick pleasure in. By twenty three, she’s become a well-seasoned hunter, and an even more seasoned survivalist. She isn’t exactly sure when they stopped coming, or if it was because she’d killed them all or because they got sick of dying. She didn’t really care either way, and took the newfound peace as a blessing.
Ester’d spent about three full years of her life at odds with that pack, most of which she spent drifting from town to town somewhere in Canada. Her initial end goal was Alaska, but by chance, she wandered through Stillwater and liked it enough to stay. She’s long since settled down and build herself a small cabin somewhere in a patch of woods; just close enough to town that she can walk, but far enough away that no one else would want to. She got a couple of dogs, cleared some fields, and is mostly living a quiet, peaceful life. She’s no longer on the alert for werewolves, as it’s been over a year since she’s last been bothered by one, and she’d honestly like it to stay that way. Years of running and killing were fun and all, but they were also tiring, and she’s pretty content with where she’s at.
Weapons of choice: A long bow and arrows or hunting knives. Prefers using wolfsbane over silver, because it’s easier to come across. Grows it in small patches around her home.
Experiences: For survival and because it was momentarily thrilling.
Kills Count: 27. It was indeed a large pack.
Organization: None.
Weaknesses: She hunts alone, and could easily be outnumber and out maneuvered if the enemy is smart enough. Can't tell the difference between a human and a werewolf by appearance alone. Isn’t the greatest tactician, and is more of a beat-em-down-quick type. Her temper can either become an ally or a hindrance, it depends on the day.
Appearance –
Name: Ester Greyjoy
Age: 24
Sex: Lady Bits
Sexual Preference: Heterosexual
Relationships:
- Her first traveling companion. He's a bit ornery and doesnt like strangers too much. He's old and well trained.
- Most recent addition to the house. He's an idiot. Everything's a threat and barking is the answer. Good hunting dog though.
Lucio Zapata – Knows him as the mechanic in town, and the god-sent savior of her bike many a’ time. On good terms.
Personality:
Ester comes off as generally irritable, bull headed, and thick skinned. Her social skills are pretty poor, limited to indirect greetings and short, well pointed conversations. She’s not a fan of talking just to talk, at least when she’s sober. Her only obvious good traits are reliability or workmanship, both stemming from the fact that she prefers to do things herself, and isn’t very happy when she can’t. She’s got a horrible temperament, but has learned to manage it better over the years. It’s not unheard of for her to go hunting simply because she’s in a bad mood.
If you manage to find yourself in her good graces, she’s usually kind, though you’ll never notice it outright, and might actually make a small effort to be friendly. She’ll mind your company, try not to scare you off, and maybe even sit down to have a beer or two with you. She doesn’t talk about feelings, but if something’s bothering you and she actually gives two shits, she might try to cheer you up with a small gesture, or drink with you until you feel better. Either is good, in her opinion.
Biography:
Ester was born somewhere down south of Ohio, near the mountains. Her parents, being the more outdoorsy types, were the reason she grew up more familiar with forests than the very town she grew up in. They went camping a lot, and not the sort of camping that allowed them the comforts of a trailer or even air mattresses. Nope, they’d go backpacking for miles on end before she was even 8, where she was expected to carry her own pack, fish, hunt, and navigate on her own. Her parents wanted it to be an educational experience, which it was, but didn’t make it any less grueling of a childhood.
When she entered into high school, her parents finally began to wind down, and the extensive camping trips became fewer and fewer. This left Ester, who’d become accustomed to living outdoors, at the mercy of four walls and an underfunded educational system. It was hell, but it was high school, and she managed through it like she did everything else in her life: with a scowl and good effort. About three months before graduation, she got into a relationship with a boy, who turned out to be a freshly-turned wolf with more than a few impulse issues. It was a full moon, they were alone in his car, and he wanted nothing more than to bite her. Ester freaked out, he got angry, she got angry, and then they started fighting. Long story short, Ester killed her first werewolf that night using only a pocket knife and a car door. She thinks she snapped his neck, but it was dark, and they were both covered in blood.
From there, it was a whirlwind. Ester packed her shit up, got on her bike, and drove off as quickly as she could. She didn’t bother telling her parents anything, as they believed a lot of what the police said the next morning: she’d killed a boy in cold blood. She was a murderer. It hurt her a little to see her parents so sure of the truth in news interviews, but otherwise buried it. It was all drifting from there, a life style she was unsurprisingly well suited for. Somewhere between 19 and 20, she encountered some werewolves who knew the one she killed. He was a part of some pack, apparently, and a large one. It’s what initially drew her into hunting, that and the bitter resentment she unconsciously held towards all werewolves because of the events that happened. It was like a long running game of cat and mouse, one that Ester found some sort of sick pleasure in. By twenty three, she’s become a well-seasoned hunter, and an even more seasoned survivalist. She isn’t exactly sure when they stopped coming, or if it was because she’d killed them all or because they got sick of dying. She didn’t really care either way, and took the newfound peace as a blessing.
Ester’d spent about three full years of her life at odds with that pack, most of which she spent drifting from town to town somewhere in Canada. Her initial end goal was Alaska, but by chance, she wandered through Stillwater and liked it enough to stay. She’s long since settled down and build herself a small cabin somewhere in a patch of woods; just close enough to town that she can walk, but far enough away that no one else would want to. She got a couple of dogs, cleared some fields, and is mostly living a quiet, peaceful life. She’s no longer on the alert for werewolves, as it’s been over a year since she’s last been bothered by one, and she’d honestly like it to stay that way. Years of running and killing were fun and all, but they were also tiring, and she’s pretty content with where she’s at.
Weapons of choice: A long bow and arrows or hunting knives. Prefers using wolfsbane over silver, because it’s easier to come across. Grows it in small patches around her home.
Experiences: For survival and because it was momentarily thrilling.
Kills Count: 27. It was indeed a large pack.
Organization: None.
Weaknesses: She hunts alone, and could easily be outnumber and out maneuvered if the enemy is smart enough. Can't tell the difference between a human and a werewolf by appearance alone. Isn’t the greatest tactician, and is more of a beat-em-down-quick type. Her temper can either become an ally or a hindrance, it depends on the day.