Post by •Sweet Requiem• on Dec 4, 2009 20:07:12 GMT -7
•NAME, , Sweet Requiem
•NICKNAME, , Req, Requiem, Swee
•AGE, , 120
•AGE APPEARANCE, , 20
•RACE, , Tsukumogami
•GENDER, , Female.
•APPEARANCE, ,
Sweet Requiem. She had not always been as she was: once, before her very essence had transformed, before she had been granted speech, thought -- hope -- she had been cold, hard steel. A blade, so apt in this chaotic world; of those years she had hung at her master's waist she remembered little, but for the singular hunger in her gut that reminded her again and again what she was: a weapon. The blade itself was a beautiful piece of work, made by a trusted Smith who knew her master's taste well; the style had been taken after watching a pack of wolves hunting. The twin blades were designed to emulate the destructive force of a wolf's brutal attack, each blade five inches long, curved inward and sharpened only along the insides. The hilt fitting snuggly into her master's palm made it inconvenient for others who would seek to steal it (it would handle oddly, and "bite" at a hand that did not match his own.) Overall, the blade's length was eight inches long, while the blades themselves were five; each metal fang was 5/32". Named Sweet Requiem for the soft, eerie whistling sound the leather bound metal makes when it sliced through air, it was one of her master's first choices in battle, though it meant they must be very close to their combatant.
Now, after becoming nothing less than a Tsukumogami, Sweet Requiem is hardly a blade at all, though perhaps on closer examination she bears a closer resemblance to that cold fatality than others would like to admit. She stands at 5'5, weighing only at 98 pounds -- a setback that makes many look at her and snicker. Her eyes are like a cats: slightly slanted, and intense, a chartreuse color that blends liquid gold with specks of silver and even a touch of green; when emotion takes her the green tends to stand out more, circles of grey tightening around the pupil. It's her eyes that first catch your attention: liquid with emotion, and intense with an enigmatic distrust.
Thin neck, slender, narrow shoulders, surprisingly full chested, her waist is equally narrow and curved much like a blade -- hard and sleek, rife with muscles.
With very long, light-colored hair that's grown to her waist, Sweet Requiem seems almost surreal to behold. Bangs have grown long enough to obscure some of her eyes, which only gives her an eerie sort of appearance. Most ominous are the twin sets of horns, small for sure, but still obvious to the eye which protrude from her skull on each side of her head -- the edges of this bone is thin and lined with silver metal, sharp as the blade she had once been. Along her left calf are engraved the words: Sweet Requiem.
•PERSONALITY, ,
Distraught, confused, wary, anger -- these are only the beginning of her personality, sharpened to a honed edge by the loneliness which had come to fully encompass her tender heart. Full of doubt and uncertainty of a past she wishes to know with all of her being, she is filled with a pretentious sort of longing for a thing she barely understands. Instead, she pines away the hours of her life knowing that there is a big block of her life that lay beyond her fingertips, and no matter how she reaches for it, or in what manner, it will remain there, forever closed to her. This frustration has begun to build in her heart, blocking out the smiles and the happiness, making her a dark, sinister creature, with sharpened horns, angry, bitter eyes and a temper as honed as the loneliness which comes to claim her.
She was once a weapon, a companion of sorts, loyal and reliable; she still feels those impulses, to cut at an enemy, to protect, to befriend, to serve -- it is these things which have driven her to the brink of insanity, to the edge of nonsensical madness that makes living all that much harder. Instead, filled with the most ubiquitous paranoia, she holds herself close to none, acting more like a feral street rat than anything else: stiff and disjointed, her words are often curt, her eyes wary as a wolf's. Completely self-centered and selfish, Swee's indifference is a phenomenal thing to behold: her scope of the world is narrow, chained down to her own sorrows, her own problems, surfacing only when confronted.
Her anger is much like that selfishness, exploding out in response, holding onto that sense of protection, to keep herself safe. Unable to dispel the vague feelings of abandonment, her trust is nearly nonexistent in the world, her heart closed down. She is brutal, she is reckless, unable to see past a minute before her.
Yet one thing remains unchanged: she loves to sing.
•ABILITIES, ,
Knack for finding things. It doesn't matter what it is, or how far it is, she has an instinctive ability to follow a trail to the ends of the world to find exactly what it is she is seeking. It is, unfortunately, one of the reasons behind her frustration on her own lacking. If she can find anything, why can't she find what she wants most?
•FIGHTING STYLE, ,
Brutal. Eerie. There are those who rely on flowery words to get the deed done. Sweet Requiem is not one for dodging. Reckless and determined, she'll take what damage you give, and still come forward, intent on killing what she needs to kill. That is, also, her weakness: she does not fight unless it is to kill. With a distaste for unnecessary bloodshed, she's rather frightening in her animalistic regard for life. What morals her master had had, were never imparted on her.
•HISTORY, ,
She dreams of blood, of the heat of battle, of the sweat that soaks into her skin from a rough, trusting hand. She dreams of being used, of protecting, of drawing blood - and most importantly she dreams of music. It is the music of the blood, the calling of unity, the call of loyalty. She was a tool, once. A blade of curved twin-daggers protruding like protective fangs, nestled in the palm of her master's hand. Of those long thirty years, Sweet Requiem remembers only ambiguous impressions, memories which tease gently at the mind in the most cunning manner. She does not remember before, but dreams it, longs for it as painfully as the black agony, searching for a way back through time that will never exist for her.
Caught in this hellish nightmare, she is aware of only this: her birth, her death, her transformation. Unbeknown to her, she died in her master's hand, died with him as his last gasping breath became an unbecoming gurgle of futility. He died there, amongst many, mangled limbs still twisted about the hilt of her body; nestled there, she remained, loyal by the mere fact of her existence: for seventy years she lay there as the hand stiffened, crumpled, was devoured by scavengers and slowly, inevitably, faded back into the grave of the mother earth. Left alone among the grass, painted red with blood, rusting by slow degrees, she remained forgotten, untouched. Time moved as if in a dream, soaking in the mere existence of the world around her: the bones which had turned to dust at her side, the memories of battle, the cry for blood lust. These things slowly formed in her, fed by the wild magic in the world, fed by the hunger to exist, to remember a world where the blade had mattered. It was first hope that made her think, then eventually, she transformed.
Whether it was fate, or sheer luck, her body altered, formed, leaving the a young woman to stare into the earth, to blink her eyes, knowing grief for the first time. She was alive, for sure, but she was alone, confused, distraught. Unable to properly work the parts she had been bestowed, Sweet Requiem remained in that hallowed circle until hunger made her crawl from her niche of death; thin as a skeleton and gaunt, she managed to eat, and with each pound she gained toward health, the more bitter she became.
Grief was a thing of her past, leaving her with only impressions of a history she wished she could see. Instead, with only an engraving on her leg for identification, and a strange affinity for metal and finding things, Sweet Requiem clung to hopes of remembering, and existing in a world she would be comfortable in. [/blockquote][/size]
