[centre][img]http://i.imgur.com/yua9KMx.jpg[/img]
This wip portrait will be updated with a proper one when I finish painting it.[/centre]

[h1][centre][color=a0410d][b]The Beastmaster[/b][/color][/centre][/h1]
[hr]

[color=a0410d][b]Name:[/b] [/color]
Tara

[color=a0410d][b]Age[/b] [/color]
18

[color=a0410d][b]Gender[/b][/color]
Female

[color=a0410d][b]Appearance[/b][/color]
Tara is five feet two inches tall and well muscled. She has brown hair which is usually a mess and full of braids and trinkets. Her skin is sunkissed and she has blue eyes. A blue pigmented and slightly faded tattoo adorns her chin and her lips and is made up of mostly lines and dots in geometrical patterns. The same kind of tattoos trail down the back of her neck, spine and shoulder blades. Random tiny symbols can be found tattooed on various parts of her body in the same faded blue pigment.

[color=a0410d][b]Armor[/b][/color]
She only wears armor when she knows she will be working or fighting. The rest of the time she simply opts to stay in her normal, light, leather and cloth garb. The armor she does wear when working consists of steel shin guards, a set of strap on boot spikes, heavy steel guantlets and pauldrons that cover the entire arm and shoulder. Depending on what she is doing she may or may not wear a leather bib or chest piece.
                       
[color=a0410d][b]Clothing[/b][/color]
Skin and furs and woven materials. All of the things she wears as clothing were made either by herself or her Nema. She wears either a simple set of leather wraps on her bare feet or a long pair of leather and fur boots in cold weather or harsh terrain. Around her torso and legs is a long leather tunic that doubles as a skirt when belted. Another set of woven skirts and short leggings is under that. When it gets too cold she wears a fur half cloak on her shoulders. When it is too hot the top of her tunic can be dropped and she opts to wear a simple band around her chest.

[color=a0410d][b]Weapons[/b] [/color]
A well loved hand axe is her weapon of choice in a pinch or a close quarters fight. When going after huge jobs or nastier armored enemies she has an assortment of jagged steel hooks, chains, and ice pick like weapons. Most come in pairs and with links for said chains. She also caries a skinning knife and dagger, but she doesn't really consider them proper weapons, just tools.

[color=a0410d][b]Miscellaneous items [/b][/color]
A pair of climbing tools similar to tekagi. Flint and steel. A lot of rope. Miscellaneous tack for her duvara. A bed roll. All of her extra weapons, tools, armor and items are packed and carried by the duvara.

[color=a0410d][b]Biography[/b][/color]
The girl clutched her shoulder and scowled into the flames in the hearth. It was a chilly autumn night and the windows were uncovered but she was drenched in sweat. An elderly woman, brown skinned, silver haired with deeply set black eyes and a tattooed face sat next to her. She was wrapped in furs and had the girl's mangled and half bandaged arm across her lap. Blood and salve had already soaked through the first layer of the wrap. The little finger was missing  from the second joint, those remaining were broken, much of the skin was missing, torn away by something sharp. The girl hissed and jerked once and then let it flow into a deep breath, trying to hang on to her resolve.
"You let him have his head before you were in position," the old woman scolded quietly.
"I know," the girl groaned.  
"You're lucky he didn't take your arm or your head or shred you to ribbons."
"I know, Nema!" she snapped.
The girl's grandmother glared at her with more heat than than the flames could ever have. The silence was broken neither by the insects in the fields outside nor any of the livestock nearby. Only by the timid crackle of the embers and the bubbling of the salve in the kettle.
"'M sorry, Nema," the girl whispered, "I made a mistake. Won't make it again."
"I hope not. You only have so many body parts to get bitten off."
"Don't wanna do this anymore."
"Don't be dramatic, Tara. You'll be back out there tomorrow."
"No."
Tara's grandmother sighed as she finished wrapping the splint around her hand.
"'M scared," she continued, "Old wounds are startin' to hurt again, people think I'm touched by demons... An' this job is different. It don't want to listen, it don't want to hunt, don't want to be free, don't want to be safe, don't want to move on. It wants to kill and wants to horde. I saw into his eyes up close an' all that was in there was death."
"Some creatures are like that. Many dragons are like that. Some go mad with old age. You may not be able to be gentle with this one."
Another long silence followed. Soon Tara was given her arm back. She cradled it and bowed her head with shaking breaths. Her eyes wandered from the hearth to pile of equipment on the floor by the entrance to the farm house they were staying in. The jagged hooks and chains she used to work with creatures of this size were tangled with her armor, spikes and axe where she had dropped them all in a hurry. They were charred, dirty and spotted with her own blood.
"I can't put 'im down," she whispered.
Her Nema stoked the fire and added more wood. When she was done she stirred the kettle and sat back on the blankets before lighting her pipe and taking a long drag off it.
"If you don't, then we don't get paid, we don't buy supplies for winter, this village continues to be attacked, people continue to die and the road eventually closes. The King's men won't deal with the beast, that's for sure."
Tara didn't answer.
"You're different child. These cityborn people behind their walls and knights and senses of superiority will never understand people like us. The tribals will always cast us out as users of blood craft and blasphemers of their gods and spirits and what have you. Humans of all kinds struggle to dance with the creatures we live with and instead opt to cower or conquer. With you there is harmony and understanding and an unspoken language. I barely had to teach you the craft some days. You always seemed to know what to do. You may be touched, but not by demons. It's a gift... And a curse. When any other man would kill, you try and reason and dance, even when you shouldn't. Some would call it stupid, others would call it mercy. As long as you remember to survive like they do, I call it the way things should be.'
'Tara, I leave this up to you. Whatever you decide, decide it quick. Either way we'll be back in the depths of the wood among the ancients and the beasts and the tree house again soon."
Tara nodded slowly, but continued to stare off into nothingness.
"Now," the old woman grunted as she stood, "Your Nema's bones are cold. I'm going to bed. Be a good girl and tend to the fire if you stay up."

***

The dragon slammed into a rocky outcrop above the village farmlands the next morning. He spread his leathery wings and tore the ground with his talons when he moved. His tail flattened the brush and he let out a scream that could be heard well over a mile. His hide was the color of sandstone with black streaks stained over his backside. Thick and jagged growths and scales protruded from his overly-bulky form. He hissed and drooled and coiled and sputtered. While his one blind eye looked off at an angle his good eye locked onto the little thing that was causing him so much anger.
He circled and arched his back, flapped his wings and twisted his neck as he let out another terrible scream. A show to put his enemies in their place. And this one was the worst kind. Tenacious. The little bitch of a human girl he had maimed the day before was back in his territory. She stood calm before his posturing, with her arm guards, face paint and boot spikes back on. One vicious, painful, hateful three foot steel hook in on a chain was clutched tight in her right hand and a set of climbing claws was forcibly strapped to her bandaged left arm. She looked him right in the eyes. How dare she?
The human girl bared her teeth stomped the ground and let out a rasping scream of her own. He would not stand for this! She would die where she stood! The dragon lunged at her.

[color=a0410d][b]Extra [/b][/color]
She has a history of being socially backward, awkward and easily confused by other people, but she is very good with animals. By more civilized people she is often viewed as dirty or even filthy and smelly.