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[sub][b]Verse | 10[sup]*[/sup] | Tainted[/b][/sub] [/center]
[indent][sub]A P P E R A N C E :[/sub][/indent][hr][indent][indent][color=6e696f]Verse does not bequeath an impression of fairness or delicateness of any matter. A veil of persistent fluidity and natural grace hangs over contours marked by an aura of predatory primal hostility. A creature alluring in the same manner that open air beckons you when you stand too close to the edge. Color is kept in perpetual stasis beneath the unforgiving sun marked by faint flashes of red across the face. Predatory wiles flicker and subsist through iris that glow with the unnatural heat that fuels the bloody forges of conquest marking her tainted origins. Cloth worn strengthen this image tattered and worn, no care upon aesthetic appeal for through change of flesh they shall vanish nonetheless. The impression that one perceives from this image holds truth much in twisted realities. 

Scars trace across a frame of hardened muscle forged by mixture of natural touch and relentless discipline. This flesh like all of the Tainted when in human guise is free of hair of any sort. The interior of the mouth is reflected of beast within, a jagged maw of canines built for tearing and shredding of life. Upon close examination and touch one can deduce that flesh is raw and angry with pain, a side effect of transformations shredding  the skin. The pain is constant and everlasting keeping her and her kin alert even in the small windows of rest they find available to them. [/color][/indent][/indent]

[sub][Indent]M I N D :[/indent][/sub][hr][indent][indent][color=6e696f]
From vile origins one truth remained there was those who stood and those who bowed. While others have been taught foolish notion of persistent worth, she was taught young that worth is a battle and one that is fought for the entirety of your life. She yearns towards power like a moth does towards the open flame. That which was crafted for war holding onto its ideas and concepts and understands them as the only truth. She desires strength and power, and finds whatever purpose that such a creature can in the pursuit of this purpose. What solace is found is in that of consumption and gain, of an assertion of dominance upon those that lay weaker. In this way understanding of her existence is something of a trivial matter. If you a strong you are to be respected and if you are weak you are to be shunned. And so to remain strong she strives boundless towards challenge and opposition welcoming the numbing of consuming desire brought forth by soothing blood.

Yet despite numerous strides taken towards power something is missing. It is hard to state exactly where the absence has its origins, be it some fundamental lack as result of unholy creation or some other psychological cause. Yet this absence is typically filled by way of vices befitting of primal form. A creature of unrestrained desire, a desire which is unbounded by typical societal functions or taboos. Yet they all hold their root and core in the same reflective principle that unifies her core: exchanges of power and dominance, a gauge of limits. She [i]revels[/i] in that particular moment when a person finally lets go, lets themselves revert if only for a second back to the beast that she and her kind are so vilified as; beneath mask of civility she knows they are monsters just like her, she just happens to admit it.

She holds no ill-will towards that which had created her. Rather her natural strive for power and fulfillment fell comfortably in with the shifting hierarchies of the Endless and its charges. In the chanting choir of bloodshed and thundering drum of marching boots she found desired fulfillment and purpose and in that regard she is stalwart and unflinching in her orders. A natural magnetism towards command was harnessed, a desire for domination either by intimidation or force of will coming naturally to her. Many die beneath her and the unflinching standards she presents, yet those that manage to earn that respect find a surprisingly amicable creature for as long as you keep her fancy.

In the end though is it all a tough facade? Hell I don't know and I don't think she knows either.

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[Indent][sub]H I S T O R Y:[/sub][/Indent][hr][indent][indent][color=6e696f]The Tainted are simply put abominations. Creatures forged not by Soul but by Sorcery. Created by the hand of the Undying, from death came life. Somewhere between feral beast and soldier they were to serve as the landmark shock troopers of the Endless. Yet the formulae of their creation was not entirely whole and many which were created would soon perish, Souless forms fraying at the edges until they were undone. Those that survived do so through feats of brutal strength and force of will and even then it's only a matter of time until they fall.

Verse is one of those so called lucky ones surviving creation by clawing her way into the life. Payment for such a feat came by way of conflict. Initially like all her kind home was found in the Anthem, the Endless' army of thieves, murders, and monsters. The Anthem helped foster the beast held within, taught it merits of strength and power. By the embrace of death  Verse found acquisition of strength and prestige. Ranks climbed by taking out the one above you, the weak to be killed and the strong to be rewarded. Yet by the time she had become a Bloodleader that life would come to an end. Squabble and tantrum of those below lead to those in her charge unsheathing steel against members of the Legion. Verse, master of sundering claw survived the conflict. Yet blood had to paid with blood and to replace lives lost Verse was drafted into the Leegion to replace the fallen

The Anthem helped foster the animal within but the Legion would tamper that into something of use. 
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[Indent][sub]M O D U S  O P R E R A N D I:[/sub][/INDENT][hr][INDENT][INDENT][color=6e696f]Whatever can be used as an instrument of death will be used as one. This produces an almost madcap sense of desperation as sword switches to axe, to spear and back again as hands grasp at whatever weapon happens to fall to them. Yet closer inspection upon this whirlwind of destruction and death is to see the skill that betrays the savageness. Weapons are handled with expert care and weight. When battle has been and will always be your entire existence you learn and you better yourself. Yet when matters fall to that most dire normal appearance change by way of tainted flesh. Blood boils and burns, bodies morphs and distorts as bones break and reform. The pain of death to be reborn as creature of fur and flesh, a howling rampage of claws and teeth that shreds through opposition. Once the beast reigned free under Anthem's calling but in the Legion it is restrained and used sparingly.  [/color][/INDENT][/INDENT]

[Indent][sub]O P I N I O N S  O N  O T H E R S[/sub][/INDENT][hr][INDENT][INDENT][color=6e696f]Wouldn't you like to know? (I'm working on it.)


[sup]*[/sup][sub][b]Tainted as creatures forged rather than birthed do not experience aging as that a normal mortal might. It's accelerated at a frantic pace as they come into form almost fully formed and hence they die just as quick. Their bodies falling apart as the Sorcery that binds them wanes. So while chronologically Verse is but ten years old physically she is about thirty.[/b][/sub][/color][/INDENT][/INDENT]
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