[Baseline CWs for this character: Human sacrifice, immolation, suicidal ideation, manipulation, religious themes, and occasional body horror thematically appropriate for an undead being.]
[Navigating to the town wasn't really a problem. Travel alone, travel light, travel swift. She doesn't really need to stop and rest, or eat, so she can make pretty good headway. Finding the road is fairly easy, as well. The cold doesn't bring lethargy; she hardly feels it. Ergo, she's likely among the first to make her way out of the forest and into civilization.
Except, there are people on the road, and the closer she gets to town, the more of them there are, which forces her to walk more adjacent to the road than directly on it. Normally, crowds wouldn't bother her, but the problem is... she's nude, and there's really little she hates more than people staring at her scars and asking questions.
So, once she's within a stone's throw of the town she stops, takes a look at the people milling about the entrance, then turns around and walks back against the flow of the arrivals toward the farmlands. It's hard not to notice a near six foot tall woman with bright red burn scars on her flesh, let alone one that is clearly and deliberately going the "wrong" way; getting her attention without offending her might be the harder part.]
[2: Festivals, Who Needs 'Em] [CW: Blood, violence, background sexual activity]
[Whether because someone talked her into it, or she found out the hard way how difficult trying to find a more private place to gain clothing was outside of the city walls, Friede eventually does make it to the town. Finding women's clothing that involves trousers is difficult (and her inner swordsman refuses to do without - Yuria's proclivity for skirts be damned), so she makes due with a neutral, dark colored, too-big, and even frumpy looking men's ensemble and a half-decent traveling cloak with a deep hood. And no shoes; she never wears them anymore.
She feels more like she can actually get out and explore, after that. An upcoming festival seems a great opportunity for getting to know the local town and culture. They've been very hospitable so far; having been on the other side of such a thing, she distrusts the attitude almost immediately. There must be an ulterior desire here.
Yet, she can't really say what to make of the festival. People seem to be fucking and fighting in equal parts. She's used to violence spilling into the streets - she's from Londor, an asylum for violent criminals outcast from normal society; blood spillage was a rule and not an exception - but the fucking in broad... moonlight is a little different.
Still, she files that away with a vaguely disgusted disinterest, and vows never to be caught dead in such a situation.
What is interesting to her is knife throwing with live targets in the way. It's still hard for her to believe that they're so casual about violence in this place, when none of the inhabitants are immortal, as they are at home. It sates their inner monsters, they say, but she finds that hard to believe. In her experience, it just makes the inner darkness, the inner monsters worse to indulge and not control.
But maybe she'll find out today, as she picks up a handful of knives, and aims. The first three thock noisily into the backboard, at least one wildly off-course. The attendant watches her, with no indication of approval or denial of action, but the one against the board grins a challenge at her.
Is she... supposed to hit them?
She winds up another knife, and this one dead-ons into a thigh, burying the blade halfway before likely nicking bone and coming to a stop. The person hollars in pain, and Friede feels a sort of... amused thrill wind down her spine at the sight of the blood that oozes out from around the wound.
She is not punished for this. Yet, what she really doesn't like is how excited she is to see the blood.
The last knife she sets onto the counter, and shakes her head, then turns to whomever is in line - or at least looks like it - behind her.]
Take it for your own, I think I've seen enough.
[3: It Was Always Going To End This Way] [CW: Wanton violence and bloodshed, monster transformation]
[There's a monster stalking just outside the town. While it strangely never seems to enter the gate, it also never retreats far. At the center of its patrol route seems to be a lonely, unused wood building.
If a corvid could be a phoenix, it would probably resemble something like the creature that haunts the fields. It burns black, the rumors say, so black, looking at it hurts like staring into the sun. It's blindingly fast, and it casts no shadows as it drops in from above or ambushes from the tallest patches of grass.
Curiously, though, it doesn't seem to be able to fly. One survivor's tale is that one of its wings seems deformed, so beware of trees and rooftops, rather than open skies.
Placations and begging, even mating displays seem to fall on deaf ears and uncaring, glowing eyes. Anyone that comes within the range of its "nest" are to be eviscerated, by claw and beak. Unlike a bird, though, it loves trying to decapitate its prey, scything its claws into the neck, especially from behind.
And inside, what little shred of Friede is left can only think, This is mine, this is mine, get away, again and again.
Friede does little but eschew physical contact, despite the warnings. It was always going to end this way.]
[4: Wildcard]
[Or bring your own! Smut is going to be iffy without some serious buildup, but physical violence is always a possibility.]
Sister Friede | Dark Souls 3 | Skala
[1: The Cold Doesn't Bother Her, Anyway]
[CW: N/A beyond nudity]
[Navigating to the town wasn't really a problem. Travel alone, travel light, travel swift. She doesn't really need to stop and rest, or eat, so she can make pretty good headway. Finding the road is fairly easy, as well. The cold doesn't bring lethargy; she hardly feels it. Ergo, she's likely among the first to make her way out of the forest and into civilization.
Except, there are people on the road, and the closer she gets to town, the more of them there are, which forces her to walk more adjacent to the road than directly on it. Normally, crowds wouldn't bother her, but the problem is... she's nude, and there's really little she hates more than people staring at her scars and asking questions.
So, once she's within a stone's throw of the town she stops, takes a look at the people milling about the entrance, then turns around and walks back against the flow of the arrivals toward the farmlands. It's hard not to notice a near six foot tall woman with bright red burn scars on her flesh, let alone one that is clearly and deliberately going the "wrong" way; getting her attention without offending her might be the harder part.]
[2: Festivals, Who Needs 'Em]
[CW: Blood, violence, background sexual activity]
[Whether because someone talked her into it, or she found out the hard way how difficult trying to find a more private place to gain clothing was outside of the city walls, Friede eventually does make it to the town. Finding women's clothing that involves trousers is difficult (and her inner swordsman refuses to do without - Yuria's proclivity for skirts be damned), so she makes due with a neutral, dark colored, too-big, and even frumpy looking men's ensemble and a half-decent traveling cloak with a deep hood. And no shoes; she never wears them anymore.
She feels more like she can actually get out and explore, after that. An upcoming festival seems a great opportunity for getting to know the local town and culture. They've been very hospitable so far; having been on the other side of such a thing, she distrusts the attitude almost immediately. There must be an ulterior desire here.
Yet, she can't really say what to make of the festival. People seem to be fucking and fighting in equal parts. She's used to violence spilling into the streets - she's from Londor, an asylum for violent criminals outcast from normal society; blood spillage was a rule and not an exception - but the fucking in broad... moonlight is a little different.
Still, she files that away with a vaguely disgusted disinterest, and vows never to be caught dead in such a situation.
What is interesting to her is knife throwing with live targets in the way. It's still hard for her to believe that they're so casual about violence in this place, when none of the inhabitants are immortal, as they are at home. It sates their inner monsters, they say, but she finds that hard to believe. In her experience, it just makes the inner darkness, the inner monsters worse to indulge and not control.
But maybe she'll find out today, as she picks up a handful of knives, and aims. The first three thock noisily into the backboard, at least one wildly off-course. The attendant watches her, with no indication of approval or denial of action, but the one against the board grins a challenge at her.
Is she... supposed to hit them?
She winds up another knife, and this one dead-ons into a thigh, burying the blade halfway before likely nicking bone and coming to a stop. The person hollars in pain, and Friede feels a sort of... amused thrill wind down her spine at the sight of the blood that oozes out from around the wound.
She is not punished for this. Yet, what she really doesn't like is how excited she is to see the blood.
The last knife she sets onto the counter, and shakes her head, then turns to whomever is in line - or at least looks like it - behind her.]
Take it for your own, I think I've seen enough.
[3: It Was Always Going To End This Way]
[CW: Wanton violence and bloodshed, monster transformation]
[There's a monster stalking just outside the town. While it strangely never seems to enter the gate, it also never retreats far. At the center of its patrol route seems to be a lonely, unused wood building.
If a corvid could be a phoenix, it would probably resemble something like the creature that haunts the fields. It burns black, the rumors say, so black, looking at it hurts like staring into the sun. It's blindingly fast, and it casts no shadows as it drops in from above or ambushes from the tallest patches of grass.
Curiously, though, it doesn't seem to be able to fly. One survivor's tale is that one of its wings seems deformed, so beware of trees and rooftops, rather than open skies.
Placations and begging, even mating displays seem to fall on deaf ears and uncaring, glowing eyes. Anyone that comes within the range of its "nest" are to be eviscerated, by claw and beak. Unlike a bird, though, it loves trying to decapitate its prey, scything its claws into the neck, especially from behind.
And inside, what little shred of Friede is left can only think, This is mine, this is mine, get away, again and again.
Friede does little but eschew physical contact, despite the warnings. It was always going to end this way.]
[4: Wildcard]
[Or bring your own! Smut is going to be iffy without some serious buildup, but physical violence is always a possibility.]