Valdemaran Name
Chandira Hawk
(formerly Cahandaeira of the Crimson Hawk Clan)

Age
25

Personality
Chandira was a chipper and sweet girl when she was young. After the death of her parents, she became much more withdrawn - but oddly enough, everyone clung to her every word when she did choose to speak (thanks her unknown Bardic gift). Even though more sullen, she realized she could not become a burden to the clan, and pulled her own weight. Though she never really returned to her cheerful self, she become less miserable as time went on, and the others in the clan didn't seem to mind her change. Instead, she was a determined, self-confident, and devout young woman.

Everything changed the night she had her vision (or, one might say, got her marching orders) from the Crimson Hawk. That morning, she was a completely changed woman - now, Chandira is what you might call an incredibly intense person. Though frequently dazed in waking meditative trances, when you have her attention she concentrates so intensely on you that it's unnerving. She is more stubborn than any mountain-goat when she has a goal in mind, and when she sets herself to something, she pursues obsessively with utter devotion and wild passion. She has a way with empowering words, which, when paired with her powerful Bardic gift, often allows her to rally others to follow with the same ardor. When it comes to interacting with people on a normal, day-to-day basis, however, she often is forward and lacks tact. She has a terrible temper when stoked, and though she isn't quick to hold grudges, she will pursue them to the grave when she makes them.

Though some believe Chandira's wild abandon in battle is a result of an invincibility complex, or, worse, a suicidal one. The truth is, however, that while her own Bardic/Empathetic gift augments her unruly and insatiable bloodlust, it is her religious zealousness that promotes her seeming fearlessness. There isn't a doubt in the barbarian woman's mind that if she were to fall in battle, that night her spirit would fly with her beloved Hawk - and if she didn't fall, she would go on to fight her crusade another day. Either way it's a win-win situation, which is why Chandira is such a formidable foe.

Physical Description
Like the majority of her clan, Chandira has strange crimson-brown eyes. Though this was no feat there, other people tend to find it startling when they actually look close enough to notice. The visions she is plagued with often give her a somewhat distracted look; though she once was as cheerful a creature as any, now she is a haunted woman. When spoken to, she gives such intense attention that the watched is normally completely unsettled. Tragedy paired with fanatically zealous devotion to her totem (and now, her duty) leave a somewhat wild gleam in her eyes, leaving the unnerving impression of near-madness.

Her often unkempt hair only adds to that impression.  Though her mahogany hair was once long and beautiful, she hacked it off without question when her sister Althea (deceitfully and jealously) demanded it in the Guard. Now the dark brown/red hair reaches a bit past her shoulders, and it often is unkempt and wild (largely thanks to her helmet).

Chandira uses her artistic skills and knowledge of dyes to put a new meaning to the words "war paint." Even before she joined the Valdemaran Guard, she began experimenting with drawing upon herself when she was going to go to market - it was more a way to advertise her designs in the beginning, but as time went on it became something deeper. Others came to her wanting the beautiful, instinctively created designs drawn upon themselves as well (many of whom then went to get these designs tattooed permanently into their skin). It was thus how her tradition of painting herself with semi-permanent designs (think henna) was born. Chandira quickly began inciting clan prayers and charms while creating the designs as a way to 'attract good spirits and energy' to the wearers. This tradition quickly became popular with the men and women she fought beside, who felt that if nothing else, such markings gave them a much more outlandish (and, thus, intimidating) appearance.

Though Chandira is moderately tall for a female (around 5'8"), her somewhat stocky-looking form gives the impression of being somewhat shorter (this northern barbarian is no slender and bendable court flower!). She has small breasts matched with wide hips, and is accented by distinctly feminine curves.

Chandira's chiseled yet dainty features are femininely-handsome, yet somewhat outlandish to Valdemarans.  Adding to her outlandishness, she has never been able to shake her heavy accent (like a Russian accent).

History
Chandira comes from the far, wild north of Valdemar, near the Icewall Mountains. She was a member of a small clan known as the Crimson Hawk. Crimson eyes are a dominant trait of the clan which she and her cousin Althea share; though the people of the clan swear that the Hawk granted them their crimson eyes, outsiders ration that the Hawk itself probably became known as crimson from the oddly dominant eye color.

The people of the Hawk were mostly peaceful; their livelihood was in their hunting, and they traveled all throughout the great north to hunt strange beasts for their meat, fur, and bones. All members of the clan were taught to fight, as well, since many of the beasts they sought were dangerous Change-beasts; in addition, every member of the clan was expected to hold his (or her) own if they were attacked in their travels across others' territories.

Chandira, much to everyone's surprise and delight, excelled not only in hunting and weapons work, but in more artistic things as well. The young girl had a strangely captivating voice; when she sang - or even spoke - no one could help but to listen. She also gained a certain skill in drawing that the clans had never seen before. She was able to make beautifully intricate designs, and was quickly introduced to permanent and semi-permanent dye making so she could use her skills on the leathers her clan dealed in (soon her designs were regularly being stiched into the leathers, dramatically increasing their value).

When she was 8 years old, the clan was raided by the much stronger Blood Bears. Roughly half the clan escaped, but her parents were not among the lucky; her father was killed, and her mother was probably taken as a slave. Her Aunt (her mother's sister, widowed from the attack) took Chandira in as her own, to be raised side by side with her own 18 year old daughter, Althea. Times - and winters - were rough and unforgiving, however, and the clan suffered greatly. Althea left within a year of Chandira's adoption to the family, fleeing to Haven to join the Valdemaran Guard. Unbeknownst to the younger girl, however, was the fact that Althea had truly left out of jealously and anger towards the new darling of her mother's (and the rest of the clan's) affections. After the older girl earned her Guard Blues, word eventually reached the northern tribe that their own Althea was proving herself time and again in skirmishes with bandits on the other side of the nation, and again with hostile barbarian tribes in the north! Althea eventually reached Captain status thanks to her cool disposition and calculating nature.

Years passed, and the clan grew in size and strength. If anything, Chandira (though not the chipper young girl she once was) grew more beloved as time marched on; she was a great huntress, storyteller, and artisan; she was even learning to become a priestess, a respected religious official for the tribe. Everything seemed perfect... until one night, the Hawk appeared to the young woman in her dreams (see The Dream below). That very next morning, at the tender age of 17, Chandira packed her few things onto a small mountain pony and headed south by foot in the dead of winter, a suicidal journey by all opinions. By some miracle, however, she made it far enough to join a small convoy (mostly of Healers) headed back to Haven; to this day, the northern-woman swears a hawk guided her the entire way.

When she arrived in Haven, her troubles had only begun. Though she had known some Valdemaran from trading and quickly became fluent in the language, she could never speak the language without a heavy accent (think Russian!). In a time of war and suspicions towards outsiders, she was ridiculed and worse. She surprised the teacher's and deans, however, when she refused to give up even when other students ganged up and bullied her. Many had interpreted her pretty-face and love of art as a sign of being weak. She proved them all wrong by never 'cry-babying' to her superiors; instead, she learned from every beating, and went at all her classes with the same wild zealousness reserved for everything important in her life. Within months she was mostly holding her own; within a year, she was beating her tormenters. This earned her the respect of her year-mates, and soon everyone all but forgot about that thick accent.

Her passion, bravery, and Gift for speaking has raised her regard among her comrades.

~~~~~ Current Events~~~~~

To be furnished later!

Gifts
Strong Projective Empathetic/Bardic Gift

Sporadic & Weak Foresight, frequently augmented by her Clan Spirit

Chandira also possesses a very weak 'wild magic'. Her training as a priestess has given her a very weak grasp of shamanistic-like magic. Though she doesn't actually possess the mage gift, she has acquired an aptitude for manipulating energies. She unwittingly uses this ability to augment her Bardic Gift, and, strangely enough, often ties energy into the voodoo-like primitive charms her people use so often. It isn't just a coincidence, then, that people will swear that her markings actually do attract luck, health, or whatever else they were charmed with...

Position
Bardic-Guard (haha, I like the sound of that!... well, she's a Guard now, and maybe she'll go to Bard school later when she's 'discovered' - who knows!)

Extras
~~~~~ The Dream~~~~~

I was standing in a field, a field recently trampled by hundreds - no, thousands of boots; every blade of grass was trodden flat, and as though it, too, were beaten into the ground, the wind did not stir. I stood entranced for a few moments - or an eternity, I do not clearly know which - when an ear-piercing shriek shattered the stillness. I looked up, and a gasp choked within my throat as our totem showed himself to me - the Crimson Hawk! He was deathly beautiful, stunningly powerful; so spellbound was I that I wasn't even aware that I was running across that trampled field to follow his flight across the sky. I ran forever - south, as it were - and so engaged as I in watching him that the second shriek took me by great surprise. I halted short; not a man's-length before me was as beautifully stunning a beast as I ever saw in my life, so beautiful that I felt guilty and unworthy just gazing upon him - a stallion, glitteringly white-silver in the bright sun; his large, intelligent eyes seemed to cradle the entire sky within, and somewhere behind those two orbs of heaven lay wisdom and understanding so great that it made me dizzy to even contemplate it. While I stared, stunned, he reared and screamed again, pawing at the sky in defiance - and it was at this point that I realized he was shackled, trapped, imprisoned. My very blood boiled at the atrocity - who could possibly think himself worthy to even touch this magnificent creature, much less shackle him? He belonged to no one, and in that, to everyone - somehow. I knew this as surely as I knew anything in my life, although I did not know how. I blinked, and for the first time noticed a sword plunged into the ground nearby. I yanked the blade from its earthen sheath and raised it above my head, a scream of defiance tearing mercilessly from my throat. The sword met the shackles with a deafening clash and a blinding shower of sparks - and then the beast was off. He ran across the field at a speed that dazzled my eyes, and his silver hooves sparkled in the sun...

But something was amiss - there was a cloud of darkness rushing after the magic spirit, and I somehow knew that if the darkness encompassed him, all his radiance would be lost forever. I screamed again, in terror, flinging out a hand in a useless gesture...

The battle shriek of the Crimson Hawk in the sky above startled me; "Save him!" I shrieked at my deity. "Let him ride the winds upon your wings! Destroy the darkness! Do something!" To my dismay, the Hawk climbed higher and higher into the sky, away from the battle happening upon the earth below. A surge of anger filled me for a moment - but only a moment, for at that point, the Crimson Hawk reached the crescent of his climb, and eclipsed the sun for a moment - and then began his rush back to earth. To my shock, the light of the sun now shined through the hawk, and he was no longer crimson, but shining white lightning as he dove - and as he dove, his wingspan grew several times over, until each wing was more than a man's height in length.

And the hawk landed upon the spirit-horse's back, and in a blinding flash of brightness, the two were one. The horse leapt, and with wings that were once those of the Crimson Hawk, he flew high into the sky, where the darkness could not follow... It was at this moment that I realized why there was recognition nagging in the back of my mind - this creature before me was Windrider Unchained, the totem of the great land of Valdemar; the seal, the flag under which the great nation stood united. For a moment, I dared to take my eyes off the spectacular creature - laying beside his broken chains was a shield, decorated with the Valdemaran emblem. I picked up the shield, and hefted the sword still clutched in my hand as the totem whinnied in the sky; it was at this moment that I realized what I had to do. The Crimson Hawk and Windrider Unchained had made the message very clear to me - I was to march to war for the nation of Valdemar.