Name: Samelle Vuirtez
Race: Werewolf/Human Form
She takes long strides in every step, not liking to waste time. She has short hair as red as the fire in her soul. Grey, watchful eyes. Her face is smooth other than a small splash of freckles and a scar under her eye. She sports all black clothing, nothing too rich or too odd to draw attention. Simply to blend in.
She is short and comfortably skinny but doesn't believe she is beautiful. Her nose is slightly too long, her lips slightly too thin, and her eyes too plain. And those freckles. She hates her freckles.
When she ran from home, she took nothing with her but a small satchel of [black] clothes, portions of imperishable foods, two double bladed daggers, and her father's ivory bow and arrows. In her arrow sheath is a stockful of black arrows and one single silver arrow (to which she is careful not to touch) waiting to be used.
Her only skill is archery.
Powers or Strengths: This Also Contains Weaknesses
Having been a sheltered girl most of her life, only having hunted with her father ever so often, she lacked the skills of life. She didn't know her way around, how to communicate with strangers, or how to spend her money. She was awkward.
So she tried not to speak to others. She avoided it, keeping to her bow and daggers.
To those, she was legendary. She hunted everything from rabbits to bears to giants with her father.
Maybe that last one was a lie. She's also a legendary liar.
Her father taught her best.
She was also afraid of fire. She was burned at a young age, by her mother, for attempting magic.
Whatever. She was never good at magic, anyway.
A few months ago, she was Changed. Absorbed. Eaten alive.
But she survived.
Samelle became a werewolf. A hunter of all hunters. And she did, indeed, become a hunter. Her first Changing, on the night of a full moon, she grew teeth half the length of a foot. Her short red hair turned to gray fur, matching with her concealing grey eyes. And her two feet became a two sets of paws on the race for blood.
Blood. Meat. She definitely needed some meat.
She awoke the next morning, bare naked, lying next to her sister. Her dead sister. She put the pieces together, realizing what she had done. Samelle put together a satchel of necessities and set out from Shim to anywhere that would leave her footprints unnoticed. She became afraid of her own body, swearing to never use these 'powers' she had 'received.'
She would go to Marn. And she would find whoever changed her. She would rip their throat out.
FROM THREAD REPLY:
Pinching off a small piece of the block of cheese from her bag, Samelle sat cross-legged in the alleyway's cold misty night air. The cheese was slightly molded on the edges before she simply picked it off and continued to feed her appetite.
She remembered taking the cheese out from her mother's pantry to give to her satchel. It was the cheese her mother had made in a contest against her neighbors. She was certainly passionate about her cooking, and when someone insulted her food, she didn't go down without a fight.
Her mother had once made a whole feast just because of the new job her father had gotten. She had spent the entire day and the night before to make a dinner he would be proud of. When they all had sat down to eat, her sister had stared at the food for merely a second before turning her face away with disgust, refusing to even take a bite.
Her mother was not happy.
Her sister, Jayne, was the spitting image of their mother: long brown hair, high cheekbones and adorably thick, rosy cheeks. She spent more of her thoughts on how to get away with anything than actually doing something, like when their mother once had to go to town for a day and asked Jayne to wash the outside of the barn before she returned.
She didn't do it.
She claimed that she twisted her ankle on the way out to the barn.
Samelle had to wash the walls instead while it grew darker by the minute. Her father wouldn't let her come back inside until it was finished, and while she spent nearly the entire night out there, her sister sat inside, in her cozy bedroom, staring out the window and watching Samelle suffer in the frigid air.
At a very young age, when Samelle's sister was still in her mother's belly, their family set out from Shim. With a newborn on the way, they wanted peace from the neighborhood, so they set out to the woods, about a thirty minute walk, away from Shim. Samelle helped as best as a five-year-old could at that point - carrying nails and bringing in some small furniture while the rest of them took what could be carried by foot.
With what little they had, they built their home using the resources around them. They tiny house was drenched in her mother's quilts, dishware, hay that was she plumped every night before bed, and other small necessities. Samelle's favorite thing in the house was the three candles that were on the table. One for each of them. Her father promised that they would carve out another just before her sister would come.