Name: Veslemoy Jorunn Age: 25 Gender: Female Description: 5'5", and all of it lean, whipcord muscle from living rough off of nature's bounty. Her skin is a dark tan from years in the sun and dusted with freckles that bring out the green in her hazel eyes. Her hair is a light brown, sunkissed into a golden copper color. Her clothing and armor are all handmade and well cared for and consists of a shirt and vest in natural colors, buckskin boots and trousers worn soft with a multitude of pockets, and a large heavy wolfskin cloak. She's armed with a taut and strong yew bow and a quiver of arrows slung low at her hip. She has her hair pulled up with an assortment of beads and feathers in her braids, as well as a set of carved talismans of animals that hang around her neck. The only things not readily made about her person is the set of daggers she keeps tucked on her belt. She smells of pine and wildness, and her eyes are as keen as a bird's and her reflexes just as swift. Occupation: Wandering Woodsman Warrior, Worshipper of the Animal Gods Intro Post: [hider= where the wild things are] The early dawn was fast fading, the morning dew a slow swirling mist as it rose, wisping away in the tall grasses that hushed her tread. She moved as a wild thing would, the singing insects barely pausing in their songs as she passed them by. The day was young, but the children of nature were wide awake- the birds giving voice for all to hear, and the deer grazing peacefully in the meadowsweet. She stilled and grew tense, arm drawn back to her cheek... This was the time that she felt most at one with the Divine Animals of the world, when it was still yet hushed yet waking. Her father had taught her well, to understand the beast as well as know them, and their place among them. For what is man but a thinking animal, a feeling beast just like any other- and to deny that was to deny an inherent part of self and run the danger of falling into arrogance and willful destruction. She'd learned well, and although the man was as hard and unyielding as stone he was not unkind. Blistered hands were tenderly wrapped after he'd gruellingly instructed her in her bow work- again and again, until she could sight a bird a second, and drop it in three. Holding her gently as she wept at killing her first hare, praising her on the clean quick kill... The deer looked up, sensing the threat of a predator nearby as all prey animals do- a moment too late. Her loosed arrow did not even whistle as it flew fast and sure through the air. The deer leapt and fell, the head and shaft buried deep into its heart- its cry starting the meadow larks into flight before falling silent at last. Drawing near she inspected her kill, clean and quick as was good as always. She stroked the soft fur of it's neck, murmuring quiet encouragement and praise as the young buck's eyes finally dimmed. A good kill. They weren't always, but her ill shots were a thing left in the past with her young childhood. She could not bare to see an animal suffer unduly. Like one would at the hands of the Behemoth. She could still remember when she first encountered it's evil work... [i] The Jorunn clan had traveled through towns and villages before, their static strangeness and bustling herds of people intimidated her and caused her to shy even as the chaotic hurry fascinated her young mind. By the time they would leave she'd be exhausted and longing for the home-like comforts of dense woodlands and forests ways... but this time her parents found her dragging her feet and they soon realized what had happened.They had a straggler following them as they left the village. The mongrel was thin and scrappy, obviously ill treated and people-shy. But it had gathered it's courage to take scraps of bread and meat from the tiny girl with kind eyes and whom smelled like the forest, and she soon found it dared come close enough to touch and the little mutt leaned into her touch as if starved for affection and not just for food. Busy with trading, her parents did not realise she'd found herself a friend... She was allowed to keep the ugly thing, and she loved him as she would a sibling. She called him Tollak, and for near six months they were inseparable- always playing, or hiking, or running. Tollak, was well named for he was as playful as she was and they were always getting underfoot or in some sort of mischief. But slowly it became clear something was not right with the little scrappy Tollak. His playful ways lessened abruptly, his appetite ebbed and waned, frequently becoming ill and sicking up whatever he had eaten. Her father had looked on with growing sorrow and a knowing eye... Eventually Tollak was so weak he could no longer lift his head and the poor dog refused to eat. Crying bitterly as she held the frail wheezing body of her dearest friend, she asked her father why... "It is the Behemoth," he'd answered gravely, his voice gentle at her tears, "The Behemoth which invites destruction, which takes and does not give back, and it has brought its parasites to consume Tollak and take him from us. "Tollak is very ill, my Veslemoy, and he will not be getting better." He continued, and despite the onslaught of fresh tears, pressed a sharp dagger into her weak hand, "It is best to give him mercy, and end his suffering..." [/i] She had done so that night, and buried Tollak under a dogwood tree where her friend could rest and feed the earth with his life's energy. She'd learned her lesson well that night, that the Behemoth was cruel, unrelenting and cared not whom it inflicted with it's poison. And now that she was old enough to venture on her own, to protect the forest ways as the Jorunn clan always had, she would make good of her vow, and she would end the blight of the Behemoth wherever she may find it, and slay its spawn wherever it may be found. The deer was dead, and had not suffered and so she went about her work without a heavy heart. The day was brightening now, the mist long gone and the sun making its eternal trudge across the sky. The warming air stirred a breeze, and she lifted her head a moment to cool her brow when a stirring sound in the meadowsweet caught her attention. There tangled amongst the tall stems and tender leaves was a bit of parchment- crumpled and ragged as if it had been thrown away or caught by the wind for some time. Squinting, she pondered the letters and slowly read its message sounding them out as she did so... The Garden District, there was one of those in the town of Temrin- which was only a little over a day's walk way. And the creatures that were of the 'supernatural persuasion' were often the kind that would affiliate themselves with the Behemoth... although to go and investigate the information of this castaway parchment would take her away from the forest pathways that she had set out to patrol... Kneeling in the damp earth as the last of the mist faded away, she considered her options when the hoarse cry of a bird drew her attention upwards. A turkey vulture circled overhead, drawn by the scent of her fresh kill- the young stag whose blood lay still cooling at her feet. An omen, she was assured and standing she hefted her kill up and slung it over her shoulders. The deer's fur catching in the fur of her wolf-pelt cape, her feathered braid jostled by the action and tickling her cheek, she steadied herself before setting out at a relaxed yet ground eating lope. The forest paths may not be wholly free of those who would do the pilgrims who take them harm, but the Behemoth did not care about paths or people and would spread wherever it will. And if her vow took her off the beaten path then so be it. She would have many miles to go if she wanted to make it to Temrin before nightfall. [/hider]