Sonatina — Roleplayer Guild

Main Character 

Rhys
23| 152 cm| Tainted

Physical Description:
 Rhys is a slip of a young woman, who carries herself with the perpetual slump of the self-conscious and the persecuted. She is small, skinny, and unintimidating enough to be mistaken for someone much younger, and her sharp, hollow features are accented by black eyes and hair an uninteresting shade of brown. The bony woman's tainted blood comes out obviously, as she was born with a pair of large unwieldy wings, plumed with thin, black, scale-like plates instead of feathers. The scale pattern continues over her body as well; there are small patches of scales spread out randomly across her pale skin. 

Biography/background:
 Rhys is the nameless bastard daughter of a harsh task master and a tainted servant girl of that oh so resourceful type that are willing to use their bodies to attain better life styles. This twisted story of a winged street rat begins in an unimportant city in the middle of the Republic where she and her mother lived in poverty, her mother having been cast off when her employer discovered her delicate condition. Life as a hungry child in extreme poverty quickly turned Rhys to crime. She became an able pickpocket at a very tender age, and an accomplished thief before her first decade. 

In that strange turn of fate that often leads those who live in crime and depravity to become victims of it, one ordinary afternoon in her sixteenth year Rhys returned home with her pockets jangling with a few stolen coins only to find her mother lying prone on the floor. The woman was naked and had been beaten within an inch of her life,  her cold-pinked skin glistening with the distinct sheen of stale fear. The man who had raped her had left moments before, a neighbor who's name she hadn't bothered to learn. 

That was the first Rhys knew of the blood fury. When she came back to herself, she was covered in a sticky film of condemning blood spatter, the rapist was torn limb from limb, and a strange voice was whispering in her head, a voice that had been there all along, waiting for her to listen. The girls's mother did not live out the night due to her injuries, and since then, Rhys has been running, running, running away.

The second instant occurred several years later. Rhys was on her own,  and Vosrohm was still just a whisper, but things were better. Better because there is so much more sky away from the city; wide, open, endless, beautiful nothing but horizon to escape to. There were good things to eat and use in what few woods were left whole from the war if you had once met an old blind human that knew how to find it and didn’t mind telling (which Rhys had). Sure there were the odd misguided groups of humans who hunted free tainted people like her, but that’s not much of a problem if you can simply fly away. Or so you think, until you become complacent, like the pitiful stinking humans that have never had to run, run, run for their lives… 

It was a warm night, of that gentle, calming type that seems made for sleeping under the stars, and Rhys was curled up in a small depression sheltered by a fallen oak, with one hard, black wing thrown over her slight form. On their own, the overzealous rural humans never would have found her, and certainly not in the dark, but they had thought to bring dogs with them; sensitive, hungry noses to replace there own pitiful scent organs. Rhys woke to the baying of the animals, and they were upon her before she had fully stood.

Men with faces like staving wolves scenting blood leered at her out of the darkness, their faces made more grotesque by toothy smiles and hand-held lights. They aimed rifles at her, daring her to fly away and ruin their sport, but the knives and ropes brandished at their sides promised a slow, tortured death. A death like her mother’s. One snarling man aimed a bullwhip and let it fly, the weighted tip hurtling towards her unprotected body, and then, nothing. Six men dead, their starving dogs feasting even before the air stopped ringing with their screams.

Rhys flew East after that, towards the army of the Leviathans and the tainted, of the prosecuted and misused. It was the only logical choice to make; she was not safe, and she had no home. East to fight. East to flee. East to find the only being she trusted, a whisper named Voshrohm.

Personality: 
 Rhys is a fighter, a survivor. She is angry with the world, angry with humans for their treatment, and angry with herself for all of the deaths she has caused. The tainted girl has only ever trusted two people, one of whom is dead, the other is just a voice in her head, and as a result,  she is lonely. Rhys is smart, but has hardly been educated at all. She is quiet in person, and has a jaded, sardonic outlook. 

Skillset:
 The main benefit of having a disgraceful set of demon-like wings is being able to fly. That being said, Rhys doesn’t have many skills to her name, with little or no formal training in anything. The tainted woman fights like a cornered animal, with only a jagged knife and a beat-up handgun she filched from a neighbor's remains years ago. She has a quick, intelligent mind with the ability to rapidly find patterns and spot problems, and a decided knack for simply surviving. Rhys has stolen, set traps, and foraged for food and clothing on numerous occasions.

Equipment:
A single long, jagged knife and a very scratched and dented hand gun.

Vosrohm

Lady Night had no difficulty finding the dislike in the nobleman's face and it sparked an unexpected burst of anger within her. Here was an embodiment of the reason she so jealously guarded her identity. Who was this pampered son of a king to act as judge over her choices? Claret had always done what she must in order to survive, and while there was no glory to be had in surviving, the assassin had no small amount of pride in having accomplished it. Would this pampered, powdered nobleman have done as well had their places been reversed? There were scars hidden beneath her beautiful crimson gown that would make a veteran of the Long War blanch.

"If you will wait just a moment, Lord Rickard?" Claret said, keeping her voice light but letting all pretenses of gaiety melt from her pale face as she unfolded the letter. Her caramel eyes grew hard, her small mouth thin. The assassin read slowly, painfully working through the complicated language the nobles so enjoyed writing. She hated having to do this now, in front of the disdainful advisor and her frustration added to the festering anger. 

"This mission, by requiring me to bring the target back to the court, has every likelihood of jeopardizing my identity. Should this occur, I will kill him and not return," she purred in a low whisper, "Collecting wayward family members is not usually within my job description."

Leaning back and speaking normally once more, Claret added, "Do tell the King that I plan on visiting the dear Lady Reagent of the Heartlands on my way, and would gladly carry a missive to her, should he wish to send one. I will leave on the morrow."

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