[IMG]http://i.imgur.com/v3a9Q3z.png[/IMG] [IMG]http://i.imgur.com/ELCDk71.png[/IMG] ❝ H A W K ❞ [indent]Early thirties ┊ 5A[/indent] ---- [b]Weapon—[/b] [indent]A wooden spear: essentially a glorified pointed stick that extends her reach drastically and is made of a strong lumber that is ancient and worn by countless gestures and cinched fingers; foraged from one the various corpses of scavengers dotted across a dead land, it possess a history and tale that she isn't privy too. Having withheld it for a lasting period, it's literally a bound extension of herself, a mere tool and a constant at her side or slung diagonally across her spine by various tanned leathers. Buck knife: primarily used for skinning her various kills, the blade itself was a hand-me-down from her usual Hunting Parade known as the Avians; they were Hawks, Falcas, Eagles, and Buzzras, and more raptors appellations from the world of old. It's rather large in size to serve the purpose of much larger game, but the fine edge from years of care is capable of smaller prized and skins. Hawk resorts to this secondary weapon in close encounters should anyone get past her elongated spear. She'd rather avoid killing with it, as the blade has yet to be tainted with such rotten filth like the Grey or infected fauna. [/indent] [b]Personality—[/b] [i]Curious[/i]┊[i]Intuitive[/i]┊[i]Resourceful[/i]┊[i]Introvert[/i] [indent]Hawk talks to herself. She proposes various inquires that do not necessarily accumulate reason or coherent thought, often they are simplistic statements and queries that assist her in coming to finalized conclusions and theories. The fact that she vocalizes them is an oddity, but Hawk has long been rather fearful of the permanent thoughts in her mind, and consistency makes her nervous and wavering in her usual convictions. Thus it spurs her habitual wondering and caters to her curious individualism that could be labeled as a careless, indifferent nature when she scours across a blanched and dried landscape and through fantastical ruins of a forgotten age. Talking to herself also provides a queer sort of company, as in her usual preference of solitary, she typically avoids gatherings and events of socializing grandeur. Not because she is shy or awkward around these circumstances; rather it's because she isn't used to them. Her adaptability and resourcefulness come from a once upon a time wild disposition that has long been exchanged for her intuition, and now serves her quite pleasantly. But in these quirks and routines, it has severely isolated Hawk from interactions, thus proving unfortunate when provided with excavating troupes and individuals, she'd rather mumble to herself than pass on a courteous greeting. It has shadowed and sheltered her for so long, that she can be rumoured as a callous, tactless woman in confrontations and conversation. She prefers wild abandon and endless landscapes, being in the same place or bridled with a cage of sorts sends her into a shock of animal basics where her moniker is rather proven in a confrontational front. Figures of authority she avoids, those that are the rigid backbone of the System tend to scare her and it's by sheer luck and her ability to hide that has kept her from committing entirely to communities.[/indent] [b]Brief Background— [/b] [indent]Vi was a fortunate babe in the Conway Community: a hodge podge of dismal scraps of tarpaulin houses and concrete walls, sometimes fortified in the dark ruins of underground tunnels and of what her family referred to as cities. Enchanted by these histories, Vi had originally striven to be academic and a keeper of tales and stories of buildings that peaked among the clouds and extraterrestrial terrorists that had brought about a time of slavery and ruin. The Conways, mostly of old blood and too fresh youth that didn't know what to do with themselves, had been fruitful in the practices of the Hunt: a sort of game and festival time when everyone become donned in the remains of their kills and went about the parched land in a near carnival fanfare. Vivian, later to be given the alias of Hawk, was introduced to this pass time and despite her initial studies with old books that had been bought in trade and the ones her family carried, she took well to the primitive activity. Surrounded by luxuriant persons in her young age, an estimation of ten in the commune, they shaped and molded her into the carnivorous bird she had been named after. The signature epitaph was given to those that were quick and flawless, beautiful disasters and daring hunters that abandoned conscious reasoning. Perhaps this is what led to their early deaths. Her parents weren't her biological ones, they had died, her adoptive pair had been Hart and Millie, hunters in their own right though Hart was what one would call a scholar if modern terms still applied. Having taken her in, Hart and Millie -estimated in their mid fifites-, had taught Vi to adapt and survive, they were rather cheerful tutors and mentors; Hart having originally spurred Vivian's want of spreading stories despite Millie's often mocking tone about the uselessness of forgotten literature. Her original name, Vivian, had been a passing joke that eventually stuck with her and she became a Conway just like every one else in the shambled town: one broken, dismal family that had been slaughtered by the very things they often hunted. In the wake of blood and death, Vivian had barely made it through the night despite the vicious onslaught, Millie having been stubborn and firm in getting her out of Conway during the assault, survived just barely. Time, from this point on, was an excruciating crawl of misery and loneliness, her mother having perished from age, environmental conditions and typical sickness, her family now presumed to be gone. She had not seen the bodies, but then, Millie had spirited her away into the dead world so she didn't have to. Though, in her solitude, she had began to wonder if had been worth it in the end. During these dragging, horrid periods of wondering aimlessly and adaption, Hawk had changed drastically; a transition that was more startling in the barbaric visage she donned and her festooned headdress of elaborate feathers. She proffered herself often to randomized caravans and traveling troupes of hopeless vagabonds, sometimes as protection, sometimes as a hunter and tracker to slay the new and terrifying beasts of infectious horror. In turn, they were temporary havens of protection against her ascending loneliness and fracturing psyche. But even these situations did not last, and by a wondering chance and fortune, Hawk had literally tripped into Barrowside and found herself, unfortunately, stuck in place among its System where they even confiscated her weapons from her calloused and worn hands. Time has been blurred but she can only guess that she has been in community for a little over a year, and almost unwillingly at that.[/indent] [b]Misc—[/b] [indent]She's a hunter, perhaps a rather odd profession, but it is essentially what she excels at. In this she is rather knowledgeable about the surrounding fauna and in some circumstances acts as a scout, but is by no means associated with the military officials. Hawk has skills sets of a typical hunter: tracking and foraging and skinning whichever she catches.[/indent] [center][url=http://i.imgur.com/gIekZvD.jpg]x[/url] [url=http://i.imgur.com/srI8mKc.jpg]x[/url] [url=http://i.imgur.com/sFm9JNA.jpg]x[/url] [url=http://i.imgur.com/4QY9WX3.jpg]x[/url] [url=http://i.imgur.com/oyLFXXs.jpg]x[/url][/center] ---- [center][i]“Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic.”[/i] — ᴼˢᶜᵃʳ ᵂᶦᶫᵈᵉ'ˢ ﹔ 'ᵀʰᵉ ᴾᶦᶜᵗᵘʳᵉ ᵒᶠ ᴰᵒʳᶦᵃᶰ ᴳʳᵃʸ'[/center] [center][IMG]http://i.imgur.com/x5XhL3X.png[/IMG][IMG]http://i.imgur.com/wBO0yfw.png[/IMG][/center]