E Y E C O L O R : Opal White (Pale Opal rainbow when using powers)
H A I R C O L O R : Dirty Blond (Dyed Brown)
H E I G H T : 5'4"
W E I G H T : 120 lbs
D I S T G U I S H I N G F E A T U R E S : Knot of Isis on inner right wrist
F L A V O R : Tarakian
D E S C R I P T I O N : White Snow Owl and Caracal.
S K I L L S : (Skills in Human form Please use as many spaces as you need and delete what you didn't use)
* Skill : Master Swordwoman * Skill : Aikido * Skill : Gatka * Skill : Krav Maga * Skill : Vajra Mukti * Skill : Tai Chi * Skill : Kung Fu * Skill : Capoeira * Skill : Learning Jujitsu * Skill : Speaks over a hundred languages * Skill : Can read and write in many languages
A B I L I T E S : (Please list from highest to lowest Abilities for Vampire, Lycanthropes and Paranormals. Please use as many spaces as you need and delete what you didn't use)
* Ability : Shape-shifting - White Snow Owl and Caracal. * Ability : Telepathy - Reading minds of people and creatures close by. Only the truly powerful can keep the Tarakian out. * Ability : Improved Strength and Speed - The Tarakian possess strength and speed much higher than that of a human, complete with incomparable grace, a mixture of the elegance of vampires and the fluid stalk of a lycanthrope. * Ability : Regeneration - The Tarakian possess the ability to regenerate a part of the body. Unless it is a vital mortal wound.
W E A P O N S C A R R I E D : Thigh sheath with custom daggers shaped like ankhs.
W E A P O N S O W N E D : -Almost 30 different swords of all shapes, styles and lengths. -Different kinds of daggers and throwing daggers. -An array of guns with special ammo.
A C C E S S O R I E S : -Keys (Trailer, Car) -Wallet
H O M E : A Trailer on the outskirts of New Orleans.
O C C U P A T I O N : N/A
E X T R A D E T A I L S :
B I R T H P L A C E : Alexandria, Egypt
F A M I L Y: Trinity, Hannibal, Mary Jane and Azrael
H I S T O R Y : "We do what we must. Sometimes we can change the path we follow. Sometimes our choices are made for us, and sometimes we have no choice at all." Those were my mother's words to me when I asked her why. I was born of a race of warriors. I don't mean people who fight for fun. No, my race are fighters, true fighters of the cause. We do not belong to the church or any origination. We are a group of travelers. We are called many things; Gypsies, vagabonds, people of the world, people of the sands. What we are, are Tarakians.
My name is Ariadne Arcane. My last name never held any importance. My people know me as The Crone, Daughter of Isis or simply The Chosen One. As my mother was before me and my grandmother before her. All born under the same moon and all with the mark of the goddess some where on our bodies. Mine is on my inner right wrist. The knot of Isis marks us as the Crone. We train with the caravan as all the children do. We learn from books far so old that they should not be around and when its time we attend schools in the country or city we land. The education is hard for most Tarakian�s. Since we do not often stay in one place long enough to get used to one school or school system. Often we have tutors that come to the grounds and teach the children.
I was taught in this fashion. That is not the only form of education we receive. We are, as I said, fighters. Fighting is in our blood, it calls to us from the moment we are born. Fighting to free ourselves from the wombs or our mothers. Once are old enough we train with masters. We know all sorts of hand to hand combat styles and also every weapon imaginable. Some like myself stick to one weapon. I love swords and knives. The feel of a blade as it slips from my fingers into my opponent is almost like an euphoria.
The world that I call my own is not easy to understand. Although I can never say I have never been without company of some kind. All around me were those of the Tarakian race. My people. The ones in which I was born to protect and to lead and to save. This responsibility was known to me from the moment I was able to grasp the knowledge of it. What does a child of six do when they are told they will be the protectors of the world? A gift that rests within their bodies are the key to save the people of the earth? I ran from it. I shuddered at the thought that I was this. A key, a tool. My mother took me by the shoulders, kneeled down so she was eye to eye with me and said: �We do what we must. Sometimes we can change the path we follow. Sometimes our choices are made for us, and sometimes we have no choice at all.� These words haunted me, and they remind me of my path.
I had no choice. I was what I was, I was who I was. Another girl of the line. A daughter of the Goddess. From that moment on, my world changed. I wasn't allowed to leave the camp unless I was escorted. I was not allowed to part-take of some of the games the other children played. I became withdrawn at times. Finding more and more that I was not like the others and yet they all cheered for me, and they all looked to me for guidance. I didn't want this life. I didn't want the tribe to depend on me. I wished that my mother never die so she could remain the Crone forever and I would never have to take up the mantle.
I grew up with this knowledge. At times I wanted to loose myself in my studies or to loose myself in the fight. I became angry, I became hateful of this life. I wanted nothing to do with it. They called it teen rebellion. How could I not rebel when I was born into a life I didn't pick. Just because of a mark on my wrist. It was one night when I was thirteen that I took one of my knives and started to cut off the skin in which the mark rested. The blade slipping into my skin, the pain and the blood. I screamed until my throat was raw. Tears blurred my vision so much that I didn't finish. The loss of blood caused me to pass out. When I woke I was staring at my mother's worried expression.
"Why?" Was all I said. Why, and why and why. Her hand brushed my forehead tenderly. Her expression slowly turned to one of sadness. She didn't say anything, just brushed back my hair. She didn't need to tell me why. This was my path. I did not pick it. I did not want it but it was mine. I thought if I couldn't escape if forever perhaps I could manage. Find a middle point between having a life and being what I was.
I found an escape one day. Walking with Mercutio and Romeo through Moscow something glittered behind one of the windows and there it was sitting one of the displays, a knife like I have never seen. It wasn't useful for what I did, but it drew me in. I bought it that day. That was the first of many. My collection started growing by the weeks. I had a large collection of daggers and swords. My caravan was filled with them. They hung from the walls, or rested in cases in a room. It filled me with joy to see them. I could get lost cleaning them every other week.
On my fifteenth birthday I wasn't given a choice again. My mother sent me to hunt. I was not Crone yet, and I could not refuse the order. She had me guarded, with Romeo and his father Darius. Darius was a skilled master fighter of our tribe. I knew I was in good hands. We were supposed to take down a vampire. An easy kill. A miscalculation on our part. The vampire was meeting the kiss she belonged to that night. What started as an easy kill turned into a larger than expected fight. I returned with Romeo and his father. The blood drained from the vampires in my possession as well.
The whole tribe cheered when I returned. Soaked in blood and with more injuries that I would have wanted. My mother looked pleased. She wore this smirk on her face knowing that I would have returned. What I didn't know then, was she had planned this. She knew the vampire was going to meet her kiss that night. Knew that I could have died, even though she sent me with Darius and Romeo. She came to me, taking the blood that we had collected for the tribe and walked me to the cauldron. "Cut yourself and purify the blood. Feed our tribe." I stared at her unsure. Then she bent to my ear and whispered: "If you have faith, then do it. If not then leave here and never return."
Her words shocked me. Made me act. I removed my dagger out of defiance to her. How dare she think I didn't have faith in my people. In my tribe. The blade sliced my forearm and I cringed. My blood had yet not touched the vampire blood. I had a moment of doubt. Though in that second the world stretched before me. I stared with my white opal eyes to the tribe. I didn't see them. I was seeing something else. I saw all the Crones before me. Their faces watching me and waiting. Wanting to know my choice. The vision felt like it lasted hours but it was only a second.
My blood dripped into the cauldron to purify the blood of the vampire. I had faith. In that moment seeing all those women before me, all the ones that had died before I was born. I understood my purpose. I understood that I could not fight what I was anymore. I had to live with this. Something else was shown to me, just because this was my fate it didn't mean it was my whole life. I could be myself and be the Crone as well. It was finding that center of being both.
My mother gathered the wooden ladle with blood. She pressed it to her lips. She knew that if the blood was not purified she could get ill and possibly die. I knew this as well. Her first sip of it, and she was fine then she drank it down slowly. I watched her, as did the rest of the tribe. When her smile emerged I knew that I had this gift. My faith was unshakable. The rest of the tribe gathered around each taking the blood of the kill within them and thus we grew stronger as people and as a race.
