My cow, for perusal. [hider=Curse Cow] [list][*][u][b]Name[/b][/u]: Hrefna Wyrmbender [*][u][b]Age[/b][/u]: 21 [*][u][b]Gender[/b][/u]: Female [*][u][b]Race[/b][/u]: Ingvarr [*][u][b]Rank:[/b][/u] Steel [*][u][b]Appearance[/b][/u]: An Ingvarr woman at the towering height of 4'9", she has long black hair and wears a low-cut black dress. Her powerful horns and red eyes complete her villainous ensemble. She has dark bags under her eyes, and looks perpetually robbed of sleep. An easy, insincere smile consistently adorns her face. Her entire body is covered in thick, dark tattoos. [*][u][b]Personality[/b][/u]: Though she plays a villain in almost every aspect, she has a kind heart deep down and has her own sense of honor that differs heavily from most Ingvarr. She’s not afraid of pragmatism to see her goals achieved, though her goals are not necessarily wicked in nature, whatever she might imply. She’s a bit of a flirt and enjoys teasing her cohorts, but when matters become serious she desires to become a strength that her allies can rely on. [*][u][b]Brief Backstory[/b][/u]: The Wyrmbender clan got their name from an incident with a dragon long ago. The beast was agile, and flew well above the blades of the Ingvarr as it terrorized Barukstaed. A brave man who had yet to earn a surname suggested a plan to the leadership of various clans that had come together to deal with the menace. It was a plan that each and every leader deemed insane, though the cost was so low and they were so desperate that they acquiesced. The brave man, Hrafn, was flung at the beast with a catapult. Making contact in midair, he grasped onto the dragon’s wing and began pulling and bending. His strength was so great that the wing snapped, and the dragon was brought to the ground where Hrafn continued fighting the beast bare-fisted until the united clans arrived at the crash site. They dispatched the monster with each and every blade that had ached for skybound flesh. For this feat, the man was bequeathed the name of “Wyrmbender” and soon formed his own clan. A couple of generations later, the Wyrmbenders joined with a renowned mercenary collective called the Vos Korvungand, under the employ of Talderia. Hrafn Wyrmbender, now an old man, wished only to die in glorious battle amongst the warriors of tomorrow. He distinguished himself once again by rending a fort gate from the stone artifice, coughing up blood as his weary body struggled under steel. He fell at that fort to a force of one-hundred blades. Generations passed, and the Wyrmbenders only gained acclaim until the Vos Korvungand collapsed along with Talderia. Most clans went their separate ways, but the bloodthirsty remained to pillage and sack whatever was left. The Wyrmbenders, unable to escape the feelings of superiority and self-importance built up over generations, joined in the pillage and slaughtered the weak. Hrafn’s sincere love of combat and adventure had, ironically, been bent after his passing. Bent into something ugly that festered under the care of the new Vos Korvungand. When the raiders went home, they used their pillage to secure power and set in motion the machine that eventually spat out the Vos Korvungand that history books tell of. Oppressive, tyrannical, and universally reviled. A regime of which the Wyrmbender clan was a pillar. The Wyrmbenders were a terror on the battlefield, but they fought with dishonor. They used dark curses to sap the strength of their foes and slaughter them when they were at their weakest. Whether this had always been a part of the Wyrmbender clan, or whether they learned it more recently from the blackguards they associated with, history books do not say. However, it brought scrutiny to the clan’s founder. Was Hrafn a combat-loving hero, or a cheating coward? Did he bind the dragon through strength and willpower, or black magic? Due to the majority of Barukstaed’s feelings on the resurrected Vos Korvungand, the legend was quickly tainted, whatever the truth might be. The Wyrmbenders were all dishonorable cowards, and their progenitor was a charlatan that only pretended to have hot blood and cold steel. The Vos Korvungand’s opposition made this into the truth to bolster morale and excuse any loss. Eventually, the tyrannical collective met their end and the remnants of the Wyrmbender clan hid away to avoid the shame of their name. When Hrefna was born over a hundred years later, she was told the old stories from a different perspective than what other Ingvarr had likely heard. According to most of Barukstaed, they were villains to the core. According to Hrefna’s parents… They had been heroes for a long time, they had been corrupted by pride and ambition, and they were rightly fought against and defeated. Their clan, over many generations, had run the entirety of a classic tragedy. Still, for their part, they were reviled and ridiculed even in the present. Hrefna liked hearing those stories, even the bad parts, because it was all a lesson in her own history. If only the other clans could see it like she saw it… Perhaps they could be heroes again. So when she got older, Hrefna set out on a journey. She traveled Barukstaed and fought monsters and bandits. She protected villages. She accepted quests and helped the people who needed it. But for all the good she did, when anyone heard her clan name or saw her magic, none of it mattered. She was a villain. She was probably only helping to manipulate the people. She probably organized the bandits herself. She could never be a hero, because she was never allowed to be a hero. Hrefna tried to fight back. She tried to say that her magic was practical. Her curses helped her punch well above her weight. The bandits and monsters she defeated, she defeated because she used those techniques to her advantage. That there was more honor in doing good than dishonor in using her magic. That there was more honor in Hrefna than dishonor in Wyrmbender. All her reasoning fell on deaf ears, over and over again. Not a single person would acknowledge her as a hero after hearing her name. All that was left was to become acknowledged as a villain. No one would listen to her if she didn’t appear to be what they thought she was. It would all be considered a trick or a ruse if she tried to be kind. The only way anyone would listen earnestly to what she said is if she played the part of their delusion. So she went around to numerous clans and challenged all of their up-and-coming warriors. Not the most powerful or experienced, but the ones that showed promise and were beloved. She would beat them down with every trick available to her, and leave them battered and bruised as she swaggered around their unconscious body. “You know what I think?” A chorus of boos. “I think your little champion is a fool.” A wall of vulgar gestures. “No, no, it’s not his fault. A genius can’t pop out of a culture of idiots. I feel bad for him. I really, really do.” Insult after insult. “I do. He’s been taught by foolish weaklings that knowing beneficial magic is for dishonorable cowards,” she shouted, pointing at their battered champion, “does THIS look like honor? Does ignorance make you feel good? EXCUSES! GET. BETTER. The majority only labels my magic as dishonorable because they’re all too lazy and stupid to learn it. That’s the truth. It’s as much a tool as your blade, only it takes cleverness and dedication to wield it that YOU. DON’T. HAVE.” They were mad. Livid, even. But they were listening for once. She was allowed to make sense. After planting that seed, Hrefna continued her journey. This time, she set out for Estival. Her family wasn’t as known there, so she would be allowed to make a name for herself. After becoming the best, she would return to Barukstaed with accolades and fame and water the seeds of doubt with adoration. Wyrmbender would be loved again, and Hrefna would become the Hrafn of a new era. [*][u][b]Equipment[/b][/u]: Various tattoos, which are either runes that increase her power or conduits for her curses. Using curses in this way makes them even more powerful, but drains her stamina. She has neither weapon nor armor, only a low-cut black dress. [*][u][b]Skills:[/b][/u] Curse Magic: -Curse of Binding: Black tendrils erupt from the tattoos on her body, lashing at and constraining opponents. The force alone can kill lesser enemies. Powerful foes may only be made sluggish. -Curse of Withering and Blooming: Can only be used on those in contact with her or one of her other curses. She saps her foe’s physical ability and temporarily adds it to her own. With this, she is able to use her foe’s own stamina to fuel her curses while growing stronger. Because this curse continually saps a percentage of her foe’s strength, it takes more energy than it gives if used on a weak enemy. -Curse of Shattering: Self-applied curse that makes it so that any weapon she uses shatters with explosive force upon impact with an enemy. This makes anything she holds into a deadly weapon, but anything she uses breaks after a single hit. -Curse of Observation: By applying this curse to a person or object within sight, she can determine their exact location at any time. The target doesn’t have to be in sight if she has seen it before and crafts a small representation of it while chanting. Runecraft: Capable of engraving runes on either skin or steel, gifting magical strength and properties. Her own body has various rune tattoos that increase her capabilities.[/list] [/hider]