Kaithas — Roleplayer Guild

Name: Amaranth "Amy Desire" Desree

Age: 25

Gender: Female

Race: Half-Faunus

Affiliation: Herself. Most find her to be a little too unstable for their liking.

Weapon: Demented Edge
While her particular method of seeing does have its perks, it doesn't have the sheer range of light assisted vision. Her weapons have been replaced with some focused more on close range combat. The shield and spear of the Unchained Fury are still stored in their ordinary sleeves, which seldom (if ever) leave Amy's arms, but instead of rotating gun barrels their folding panels hold foot long daggers, kept devilishly sharp and able to be launched or flicked into her hands with merely a thought and a gesture.

The color of the sleeves is still the bluish grey of the original Fury, but the tint is blotched with crimson, the shine dulled by years of use without cleaning or polishing.

Semblance: Wild Eyes
Heightening to unheard of levels to compensate for her blindness, Amy's Semblance has gone from being a mere amplification of her ordinary senses to a sense of its own. While active (and it nearly always is), Amy can hear everything nearby from the racing heartbeat of a loner walking through an alley to the soft flutter of an owl's wings, smell sweat from meters away, and differentiate marble from limestone by touch alone. Replacing her vision is a sort of electrolocation. By generating small electric fields, Amy can perceive the world around her... And "see" the weak fields generated by the nervous systems of all living things nearby. Her semblance is her vision, her world, and her most potent hunting tool.

Additionally, her perception of time can be slowed down even more--compensating for the short range of her "sight" in deflecting attacks.

Personality: Amy’s life has stripped her of any illusions regarding the nature of humanity and its conventions, and the loss of her vision has stripped her mind of most of her remaining inhibitions. She's perfectly willing to kill, steal, and sleep her way to whatever she wants... And most of her wants are the desires of a barely lucid, vindictive mind terrified of being alone. The lives of others no longer have meaning for her, nor does her own. Often, the only thing preventing her from killing someone who threatens to leave her... Is that paintings make poor conversation partners.

Appearance: Amy looks much the same as she did during her time at Beacon, superficially. Her hair is still the same short crimson spikes, and if anything her number of rusty feathers has only increased. Her lips are the same full red, under the same small nose, with the same spackle of freckles. Her body is still the same work of art, toned and kept carefully to its maximum beauty--though her motions are more tired, her expressions more stressed and more depressed. Her face is a little more wan, as well... And if you look where her soft blue eyes used to be, you'll see nothing but a bandage covering empty sockets.

History: Amy's life progressed nearly exactly the same as her normal counterpart's, up until one single, solitary, tiny event: the touch of a pencil on the C slot on a multiple choice question instead of an A. That one changed guess meant Amy passed her Beacon entrance exam, getting assigned to the team CADE Cascade, with a certain old friend. Fast forward a few weeks, to that old friend standing her up for a date. Being forced to face her the next day, not having a team of fellow rejects and failures to fall back on, feeling completely and totally alone, meant another single, solitary event was changed. The point of the Fury, hurtling toward Quina's face, was not deflected... Not in time, destroying the other girl's eyes and killing her. Forcing tears back and running away, fleeing into the Emerald Woods and hiding while search parties looked for her, Amaranth pulled herself together...

Long enough to realize that she'd killed her best and only friend, lost her chance at becoming a Huntress, and was now being hunted.

She ran once more, into the city proper, disappearing into the populace and taking on her former occupation once more. But this time... This time she couldn't be too public, couldn't appear near figures of power... She was reduced to waiting on the sides of streets, hoping to make scant change in the shadiest way possible, until justice finally caught up with her in the form of two hired thugs. She was happy--hopeful, even--when they informed her that Quina had survived, only losing her vision... But those hopes were dashed when they turned out to be men sent by a vengeful father. They gouged out her eyes, in recompense...

And as she lay in a pool of her own blood, clutching at empty sockets... like a blinded glass bird flying toward a thousand crystal spikes far below, her mind shattered. No longer would she be the Hunted. Now, she was a Huntress, of a completely different sort. They thought of her as a murderer, so... She'd become one. Her new semblance proved to be perfectly suited to stalking and murdering in the dark, the only trace of her after each slaying a fresh painting of the slain's face in blood over the body of the victim, done by touch.

People might leave you... But paintings have no legs on which to walk out.
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