[b]Name:[/b] Terry Walshe
[b]Age:[/b] 19

[b]Appearance:[/b] Took the time to draw a short sketch of the character myself.
[hider][img]https://i.imgur.com/zVuvFlU.png?1[/img][/hider]
[b]Description:[/b] Terry seems to be carry about an unending plague, a pale girl who doesn't seem to stop coughing into her handkerchief and addresses people with a sore and worn apologies. She is always sick with or to something. Flu, nausea, joint pains, migraines; you name it. Add in a laundry list of allergies and you'd have a life of being bed ridden like Terry. Luckily, with advancements to medication able to alleviate her, the young girl is able to live a somewhat regular life. At least what was once normal. Her body is naturally very frail, lanky and modest at most in regards height. She despises the thought of going outside. But at the same time, absolutely loves it. Rarely spending her time sleeping or idling, when her body allows her of course, her amber lit eyes are sunken with deep bags which seem to never go away because of her constant activity. Whenever she can, Terry leaves the confides of her cluttered room to take pictures of nature to help sooth her crumbled psyche. Her signature outdoors attire is a thick black and blue raincoat, olden film camera slung around her neck, and labeled pill-container sectioned with all the necessary medication tucked in her bag. Her departures often lead first with a hope that a simple debilitating fever is the worst of what she would inevitably contract.

[b]Sensation:[/b] Smell

[b]Warbrand:[/b] Her weapon in it's natural form appears in a puff of mist from her hands, the signature guard-less silver shortsword. Her skill with the weapon seems more granted than practiced, as though it is guiding the fragile girl during her haphazard swings. But one shouldn't take this lightly. Terry is a horrible warrior by nature, however, the weapon has found ways to turn her into a very capable killer. 

Even in the base form, the weapon is noxious and steals the very oxygen and life from the air, leaving those around to be wracked in slow, hellish pain as they gradually get choked out. The slightest nick from the blade will also leave the wound overcome with a violent and festering disease. When fully transformed, the warbrand turns into an odd beaked-mask of sorts, resembling the infamous plague doctor's mask. At first one might question the nature of such a 'weapon', but would realize quickly to avoid the plumps of smoke bellow from the sides when she exhales. Serving also to sedate the troubled girl, it manifests her darkest emotions. Not only does the vile substance cover an area around the thin girl in obscurity, the mysterious black gas rapidly corrodes and rusts all it grazes and touches. With just one tiny breath, one would be wracked with unimaginable pain, their bodies viciously rotted from the inside out within mere moments. 

The range is rather small when trying to cover a wide area. This is because there is a set amount of gas to her disposal. About the volume of a 15 x 15 square foot room. It bends to her will and she can guide it in streams or unleash it in a short shockwave.

[b]Saving Grace:[/b] A photo of her friends in the children's hospital kept in a dull bronze locket. The guard on her warbrand dons the symbol of a dove, Terry's favorite bird and the sign of peace and innocence.

[b]History:[/b][hider]Up until the beginning of January 14th, 7 years ago, Terry had never set foot a mile outside of a hospital. She was quite literally raised in an emergency ward, having learned everything and nothing at all while stuck within the white-bleached walls. Since she was born, her life was one of tenuous peril, a constant fight for survival. It was discovered that she had an orphan disease that would claim her life if not treated immediately and with capital procedure. Since then, it's been nothing but taking painful shots, chugging bitter pills, and adhering to a laundry list of complicated medical advice. Having been sent far away from her hometown in Europe for specialized treatment not found there, the young girl has rarely seen her parents, and the only family she had growing up were the doctoral staff and ailing children at the institute in America. She felt lost, and alone at first. But the others, poor children undone by fate just like her, helped Terry see a brightness in their tragic lives. They would share stories of the 'outside world' and of their dreams, instilling within her an ambition and hope, an uplifting feeling that she strove indebtedly to pass in return. Together, they found a way to push away all the pain and find reasons to smile. Because in their world, something as simple as a smile meant strength. 

Unfortunately, [i]this[/i] world was not that simple. 

Since her graduation from the medical ward, Terry has spent every waking moment trying to embrace the precious life that was robbed from her, never forgetting what she learned in that solemn institution. Her incredible talents fostered during her isolation earned her quick fame and it looked like she was headed down a path towards happiness. But perhaps it was never supposed to be.

Not only a week after Terry had settled into her new life of budding fame, she discovered the Warbrand by grim chance. Just as soon as she had a grip of her own life, it slipped from her fingers and she lost control of everything again. As always, a greater being pushed her fate towards Tragedy. Terry found herself at the mercy and whim of a suddenly announced god of 'War'. Even more frightening was the grisly blade that was now bound and watched over her. Despite her unwillingness, the weapon would not allow her any respite or consideration. It found a way to consume her. The weapon transformed and latched onto her like a leech, injecting her with powerful neuroleptics so that she would be subdued, just like how the doctors would when she was wracked in incredible pain. In a way, this might have been a way of mercy, warping her mind and forcing a different 'Terry' to act upon its ceaseless bloodlust. Overnight, she became an aspect of pure chaos and extinction, one that knew nothing of friend or foe. Just like how War would've wanted, she carved a painful scar into the city and its inhabitants. Awakening in the center of the brutal destruction caused by the corrosive smoke that turned everything into black dust, Terry, in a teary wail, went to isolate herself from everything and everyone. 

Her actions would cause great guilt to build up in her, affecting her addled body more and more. Rarely does Terry ever leave her gloomy room, and never does she let anyone know. Her secret ventures outside are short-lived and the few instances of happiness she has left. With her beloved hobby, she is able to remind herself  of who she is and resist the dark urges from the Warbrand. But the awful thing does not take well to not being properly sated. It inflicts her with malady as surrogate, tearing her apart, but leaving her just whole enough to perpetuate. She has since become a shell of skin and bones due to the long-drawn punishment, wracked with suffering every waking moment of her life. Though she will always deny such a thing, smiling on in the face of others. 

Only once her mind was cracked and the Warbrand was able to reclaim its ‘puppet’, did she find solace; her mind made numb to the pain of everything. If only for a moment. 

Until then, she will endure.[/hider]
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