|First Project of 2017!|
The name's Pyro, or Kat if you want
Playing this game called Life and currently on level 14
My 'faith in humanity' spell card got sent to the Graveyard, sorry
Biologically born as a human female, but I identify as trash
Member of the Procrastination Club (Meeting's been postponed fyi)
Eccentric and dorky multi-fandom trashbin with horrible memory.
Name: Flynx Torchwood
Real name: Tamara Sorrel Miralynn
Age: 19 (in Earth years)
Occupation: Mercenary (former), Assassin (current)
Species: Human/Lynx hybrid
Weapons: Double-sided battleaxe (primary), pyromancy (secondary)
Weaknesses: Once her hands and feet are wet/cold, her pyromancy powers are dead. She can’t handle the cold well (She shakes too much from the cold to fight/run properly). She doesn’t do well in bright/foul smelling areas due to her sharp sense of vision and smell (Ex: If someone directs a light at her eyes, she’s temporarily blind/if someone throws something foul-smelling at her, she’ll start gagging.)
Likes: Fruits, sweets, raw meat and blood, cats, silence, books, fire, coffee, warm objects, fighting (physically, like fisticuffs)
Dislikes: Cold, rain, large bodies of water, snow, loud people/areas, being lectured, vegetables, her past, darkness, nosy people
Imagine a world with animals with human like figures called Amalia and mages are enemies. Mages live in the land called Torenya, a land with stable and prosperous towns with medieval-like houses, whereas Amalias live in a land called Elrick, a land where only forests and villages can be seen. For generations, they have fought and much blood has been shed. In a recent generation, Torenya’s king proposed a treaty. He offered his daughter to the leader’s son of the Katamotza clan. They fell in love and married, the long war coming to an end.
But the question is: who am I? I am dead. The princess Tamara Sorrel Miralynn, heiress to the Torenya throne and the leader’s daughter of the Katamotza clan, gone. She no longer exists. Now, I am Flynx Torchwood, 19 years old. Everyone who was aware of my existence knew me as the Assassin of Torenya. Some believe I was a stone-hearted killer who had no emotion, others believe I was a vigilante, but all knew me as the freelance assassin I was.
But anyways, let’s start somewhere at the beginning. I am the daughter of Lucian Sorrel Katamotza, general and leader’s son of the Katamotza clan and Angela Miralynn, mage and heiress of the Torenya throne of the time, and I was their only child. I had the pyromancy inherited from my mother and the killing instinct from my father. My parents had hoped to raise me to be a strong queen and see me take their place on the throne. Their dreams had never reached their goal.
My parents were murdered, their bodies mutilated and disemboweled. I had awoken to screams and rushed to their room. I barged in, seeing sight of them, and their murderer. At the time I was 9, tried to fight back, but ultimately lost. I was badly wounded and was tossed into the river behind my former home, left to drown, freeze, or bleed out. I drifted down stream and later awoke to a throbbing headache, water and blood. I forced myself up, dragging myself out of the river and to a spot to tend to the wounds on my left arm and back. Once I had patched them well enough, I let out a brief sob to mourn for my parents before seeking shelter. From that point on, I grew up an orphan in the shadows, teaching myself how to fight and survive before taken in 3 months later by a guild of assassins and warriors called Bloodeye. I vigorously trained with them, fueled with an iron will to fight and survive.
I left the guild at age 16, offered a job to be a mercenary in the castles of Nehema, who was ruled by a tyrant that wanted more bloodshed between Elrick and Torenya. For the next 4 months, I was a mercenary for the king before he was assassinated by yours truly. After that, I became a freelance assassin.
Later that month, after taking on an assassination mission, I was believed to be dead. They had found an unidentifiable corpse under the rubble that had been believed to be me. The man I had went to assassinate had set this place up to kill me and bomb the building. It almost worked. The rubble had mauled my right arm into a bloody, scarred mess and had taken my left eye as well.
Everyone believed that I had died, and I believed it was better that way. I now walk these dark streets, a mask and goggles to conceal my identity, the band on my arm and scarf the last remaining things from my past, the bandages I wear to hide the scars I wear, and my axe, carrying the blood of those I’ve killed.
-------------Midromeda belongs to SeikoloveyCakes