[hider=Delphine]
[b]Name:[/b]
Delphine Bonnie Petiot
[b]Age/DOB:[/b]
15 ; December 3 1928
[b]Gender:[/b]
Female

[b]Physical Description:[/b]
[hider=School][img] http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RAShPRRv5MM/UZ6jgFM2KwI/AAAAAAAAFq4/VHb4M4ray-A/s1600/American%2BTeenagers%2B1940s.jpg[/img][/hider]
[hider=Work][img] http://i.huffpost.com/gen/405707/thumbs/r-INGRID-BERGMAN-PHOTO-large.jpg[/img][/hider]

[b]Skills/Psychological Profile:[/b]

-Fluent in French, Latin (Catholic), German (bar/café worker) and bits of other languages she has picked up working in the bar.
-Charismatic to a tee with patience to match; probably stems from tolerating café patrons.
-Silver tongued; she has always been able to talk herself out of a situation.
-Psychologically manipulative. Almost always appear trustworthy. Perhaps her physique, or her mannerisms, or her soft spoken/coy nature; people usually find themselves relinquishing private information and taking her words at face value.
-Borderline Machiavellian personality behavior; The Prince is her favorite novel.

[b]History:[/b]

Delphine is the 3rd child born to Jean and Marion Petiot. Her parents were born in Paris. Her mother, Marion, was raised in a Catholic orphanage and her father came from a family of shop workers that were barely clinging to middle class. They met and married young and decided to strike out away from the city. That seemed ages ago, though their childhood is worth mention because the nurture aspect continued to affect their children. Delphine’s parents had always been the “keep your head down and be invisible” types.

They opened the bar/café “Porte Cachée”; they worked hard and they went to church, and most importantly they kept their mouths closed. They were the neighbors that no one even bothered to gossip about. Even their children, and they had 7 in good Catholic fashion, adapted to this silent meek personality. All except Delphine and her eldest brother Bertrand.

When France began to turn against its own people her brother Bertrand, who was by far her favorite sibling and her only true friend, was “recruited”. Her parents were convinced that in the long run this was a good thing. Her brother would learn to mellow his personality and their house would have contributed to the Vichy. They smiled and hugged her brother. They let him/made him leave, and she would never forgive any of them. 

She rested on her knees, hands crossed, and spoke to the Father about all of the anger that was building up inside her. Why couldn’t God give her the temperament and ability to accept what was? The father spoke to her then as he would any child. He attempted to quell her anger and lead her down a path of forgiveness. It wasn’t until she exited confession that the Father offered up another path. A path would give her anger a path of expression that would not lead to a sickness and a corruption in her soul.

Porte Cachée thrived in the Vichy rule. This influenced her parents to become even more accepting of the new politics than they already were. She feigned a change of heart after her conversation with the Priest, easily passing her anger off as normal teenage rebellion/angst. Her parent's accepted this, mainly because they wanted to believe that their 2nd rebellious child had turned over a new leaf. She even offered to pick up more and more work at the Café and eased the burden of parenthood and bar management for her parents.

[b]Relatives/Relations/Contacts:[/b]
(Not all relations will be listed due to irrelevance at this time)
WIP lovelies
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[hider=Mutt]
WIP

[b]Name:[/b] Sharhn’Rak “Mutt”
[b]Age:[/b] 14

[b]Appearance:[/b][indent]She was small for an Orc, 5’4”, with a lithe form congruent with consistent cardio. Most definitely a runt. She normally stood extremely straight when on two legs because it required focus to not fall into an animalistic stance. Her skin is a dark green crossed with scars; it varied from the average Orc warrior in that there were many visible warg induced scratches and bites, and she had a multitude of healed scars inconsistent for her age. Both ears were stitched with thin strips of leather hugging like many snug earrings, accented with small metal spikes. Dread locked pitch black hair hung past her hips. It was usually tied up, revealing the right side where her head was shaved and painted the red of her new pack. The coloring thinned and focused across her jaw into a design of a warg like teeth. Her own teeth were sharper than average, still exhibiting Orc canines, both lower and upper, that were significantly larger than the surrounding teeth. Her eyes looked like a stagnant death, pale from lack of exposure to sunlight with an odd range of dilation that changed their appearance in different conditions; allowing glimpses at a hallow darkness.
[/indent]
[b]Skills/Abilities:[/b][list][u]Warg Communication[/u]; ability seeming entirely unnatural, yet completely natural for her. Full communication through audible, visual and pheromone.
[u]Heightened Senses[/u]; conditioning, environment and upbringing. Night vision, quick reaction to movement. hearing, smell and instincts all above average.
[u]Blood Craze[/u]; when the pack spills blood she becomes over taken with frenzy and falls into a haze of destruction alongside the pack.
[u]Complete Loyalty[/u]; to those that earn it her loyalty is not corruptible. 
[u]Weapon’s Training[/u]; average training with both a Bow and Katar, increased effectiveness due to well maintained physical condition.[/list]
[b]History:[/b][indent]She was born the runt of a wealthy warg keeper that lived tucked into the bowels of a large mountain; their land and the warg’s entrapment steadily seeping into the forest surrounding. She had a name when she was born, one she should recall because it fell from the lips of her father as he died, but she didn’t. Her father hated her size, all her perceived weakness and precognition told failures, and he could barely stand the sight of her. That’s all she remembered of them as a family. She was two when the ever growing brittleness that defined Mutt’s infestation in the household ceased. She was tossed out with the bones and scraps to the immense warg pack. While this was a kindness in comparison to the repelling life offered in the house, it was surely not intended that the child would survive. She survived.

She had no interaction with people for another 4 years. The land afforded to the wargs was large enough for her to duck in and out of catacombs and deny her slovenly origins. The choice wasn’t difficult on her end, though many have pondered as to why the wargs would have accepted her. The most believable say it is because she was useful in a way that tiny tools can be useful to large things. The deep, yet not demobilizing wounds that licked across her skin where proof enough that they had accepted her as one of their own, for she retained no ability above any other orc in defending herself against a warg intent on dinner. She had somehow learned to barter and survive on their playing field and while she may have become limited in social graces, most expected this of an orc anyways.

She was sold, beaten for disobedience, burdened with surviving in the core of debased orc filth, demonized by outside races and coerced by the orcs, all alongside the wargs. Then one day an orc came to purchase a couple of battle tested wargs for assistance on the field. Her present company was delighted; fortunately she had been rather disobedient as of late and they had been grumbling about her influence for weeks, and this orc, he looked like he could break her. And if not, no loss to them. After some harsh negotiations Kharkus walked away with a handful of wargs and an 8 year old Mutt.

2 years later Mutt and Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi’s small pack of wargs and growing company of orcs was beginning to take a semblance of stability. While their official title was purchased, for the first time Mutt no longer felt enslaved. Her old masters haunted her dreams and brought forth whimpers of torment and rage from the huddled mass of sleeping wargs. Strangely the orcish concept of revenge alluded her conscious and she thought only of their beastly brethren that resided in the soul crippling claws of others. It was a mournful and sad song that her pack called out to. One day, they had disappeared. Some whispered of Mutts dissent, some of her fearful nature. Then one day the camp awoke and there were no longer 5 wargs that nestled with Mutt in slumber, there were 45, and they seemed content to sleep off their fat bellies for days. New wargs arrived from time to time and it was accepted now. There was no point in asking Mutt questions, she rarely spoke anyways, and no answers had been given as of yet.[/indent]
[/hider]