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Xira
The figure moved silently and carefully through the open fields. The moon shed a gentle light down, almost illuminating the figure of Xira. She was a proud looking figure of 5"6, clad in a black cloak, she ran the last steps into the forest, as she looked back with a sigh of relief. She was free. Shedding the cloak, she pulled out a dagger from its sheath, and sliced at the soft velvet material violently. I'm going to miss this cloak she thought wryly as she pulled out a vial with sticky red liquid. Pouring half of it in a trail from the cloak, she then cut a lock of hair from her head, and threw it over the blood. Then, she looked under a nearby bush, where a young calf had been hidden. A young dead calf. One she had hidden a few hours before dusk. The wolves would smell the blood, eat the calf, leaving behind some meat and bones. This will do nicely... the perfect scene, for the perfect murder. she smirked in satisfication. This should fuddle them nicely when they come in the morning... Grinning, Xira made her way deeper into the forest. Her footsteps light and quiet among the fallen leaves and twigs.
Xira was a terrifying figure, 5"6, she wore strappy black sandels, with heels high enough to give her some height, yet low enough to make it possible to run easily without tripping. Silk shorts hung slightly below the swelling of bones at her hips. And they ended a few inches below, barely covering her rear.
Yet her legs were not bare. Straps ran down both legs, almost like the ones on pink ballerina slippers, but black. And every so often at the front, back, and side, sheaths with knives hung. Small ones, as big as your index finger, to ones as long as your hand. But they were positioned, so that they didn't dig into her skin when she bent, so that they flashed a tiny bit of silver when she walked. And loosely on her hips, hung two small guns. Not very big, but big enough that they were impressive. One of the sawed off pistols had lead bullets, while the other had silver. And they gleamed with their own dark light as she made her way across the forest.
Her top had two thick straps, and a very low V-neck, and ended right under where her cleavage ended. And this too, was black. So were the straps that ran down her torso, some holding tiny vials of liquid, while others held tiny pouches of bullets.
Her hair was kept away from her face in a tight french braid. But that didn't stop some tredrils from framing her face. It gleamed, gleamed like her guns, like her knives, like her eyes with darkness.
On her back, across her left shoulder, was a long sword. It had been fashioned so that it lay right between her shoulder blades, so that it didn't budge when she ran, and didn't get in her way. The hilt was black, the sword itself was silver, but cloaked at the moment in a velvet sheath. It was a samurai, a Japanese sword, sharp enough to be deadly, sharp enough to cut through metal.
Holding on herself two guns, a sword, 15 knives in all shapes and forms, holy water, 14 extra silver bullets, and 14 extra lead, blood, and a cross which hung around her neck -as well as another on in a small pouch- she was a impressive figure. And through all this black, her skin shone through. Its pale color almost eerie. She wasn't white, but she wasn't tanned. Nor was she pink. Her skin had an asian tone, not white, but at the same time, pale with all the black. A soft, asian color set in marble.
Her face was oval, smooth, with arching eyebrows, and slanted eyes. Her eyes were almost lashless, and a dark brown/black color. Yet they shone with wisdom. Her nose was straight, with a slight tilt at the end. Her cheeks weren't bone fine, nor sculpted, but full... as full as her mouth was. And as she smiled, they almost blossomed.
Xira was running away from the village which had been her home for the last 17 years. She wouldn't miss the place, that she knew for certain. But it still felt... strange leaving. But then, this wasn't her choice. If she were to stay... then at dawn, she would have been hung like a common criminal. But that, she was not. Maybe a royal one, or even the sneakiest or the smartest... but never a common one.
They thought she was odd. They blamed her for all the murders that took place in the village. But not all of them were her fault. Most of them were the fault of wolves, smart wolves. So she would hunt them down and kill them. And the humans she killed, that was because they had something to do with the killings.
This didn't mean that she didn't enjoy it. The hunt of tracking your prey, then the deed itself... she enjoyed it well enough, but didn't enjoy it enough to get herself labelled murderer.
So now she ran, she didn't know where to go, but knew that sooner or later, she should stumble upon a village. She knew that until someone talked about seeing her, that no one would find her. Her father had been the best hunter in the village. He had taught her everything she knew. Almost everything. Her mother had been the one to teach her the myths and the truths of life. How to convince a prey that she was harmless, even while they had her arrow through their heart. It was her mother, who taught her how to trick a human's mind. I miss you mom, dad... she thought to herself. It had been a year since her parents had died. Killed by a pack of wolves. She had been too late to save them. But then, none of the wolves had lived either.
It was a problem, the wolves. Too many of them in the forests around her village. Too many of humans have taken a liking to wolves. Pesky creatures. Killing everything and everyone until the villagers noticed. And then they will regret mistreating her. She thought to herself. But when they do, I am not coming back.
She thought about her past... how her parents had been betrothed to one another. It had been a good decision, chief's daughter, and the healer's son. At first, they had loathed each other. They both had loved ones. But in the end, hate slowly melted away. Her parents had never been in love. They had been friends, close friends.
Four years into their marriage, Xira was born. She had no older sisters or brothers, and none younger. Her mother had never been very fertile. Xira had a normal child hood. Friends, schools, fights, and even a couple of crushes. But it had all changed when she turned 12. That was when the killings had started. Wolves. Possibly lycanthropes. But wolves all the same. To protect herself, and to protect others, her father taught her the arts of hunting. Her mother, the weakness's of these creatures. And that was how her life was. School, then studying. These drew her away from her friends. Away from "normal" life. And she became stronger, deadlier, and more ruthless. All in 4 years time. Until she was allowed to hunt, allowed to kill with the others.
But that was then the trouble started. Her parents were killed, and she went into a solitary grief period. And when she emerged. She was tougher, colder, and more ruthless then she had been before.
It took quite some time for people to adjust. Not that she had been cheerful before. Xira had always been quiet after her studys began. But because she was... scary. It wasn't the Xira they had known before. That was when the rumours started. That, was when she was labelled killer.
This didn't mean Xira was a killer, a cold killer. She was quiet, eerie, cold, ruthless. It was unusual for her to be kind. Unusual for her to spare a loving glance. But she laughed, she joked, she teased. Maybe her sense of humour was a tad different from ours. But she still had one.
Xira rubbed her hands together, trying not to catch a chill. She knew it was the wrong time to run away. It was in the middle of autumn, warm enough so that she didn't need a cloak, but cold enough that in the middle of the night, her breath appeared in small puffs of smoke. It would be winter soon, and then... well, she'd worry about it then....
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