.:|| ἢ τὰν ἢ ἐπὶ τᾶς ||:>
NAME: Rana Erevos
FACTION: ---
RANK: ---
SPECIES: Lupo
AGE: 28
SEX: Female
HEIGHT: 6'
WEIGHT: 165 pounds
EYES: Chocolate
HAIR: Dark Chestnut
SKIN: Light Tan
FORCE SENSITIVE: Yes
Resourceful
Physically Fit
STRENGTH//WEAKNESS
Force-gifted
Eidetic Memory
Protective
WEAKNESSES
Unresolved Anger
Raging Temper
Rana dresses for comfort and ease of movement when not clad in armor and dripping in weaponry. Her hair is perpetually mussed and often in a loose ponytail, the chestnut waves hanging to her waist on the rare occasion she leaves them down. She has a sturdy, well-muscled frame, and carries herself like the warrior she is. Her body bears the scars of her captivity and her chosen occupation, all of which she wears with pride. She has no tattoos as of yet, and bears piercings in her earlobes and along the curve of her ears.
There are a great many things I wish I wish I could forget. But I am cursed with a perfect memory. I can never forget the taste of summer berries, the sound of my mother's voice, or the sounds Aelin made as she slept. Along with those memories are the others. The way that the smoke stung my nose and eyes the night everything went to hell. The sounds of my sisters screaming. The sight of my father, listless and broken, not lifting a hand. The rest of my family and clan broken by the ferocity of the attack.
There was no hope, but I fought. Screaming as I shifted, I fought. Tasted blood and entrail, reached for the burgeoning Force connection only to have it fail me. It took five of them, in the end, to beat me back into a fourteen year old lupo that passed out from the pain of struggling with so many broken bones and stretches of torn flesh. I never saw my home or my sisters again, and the shards of my fractured heart shudder painfully.
The beatings never stopped, because I never stopped fighting. I couldn't. I refused. It was twelve years...twelve merciless, unfathomable years, before I managed to take advantage of a lapse in their focus and escape. I've been wandering since, working as a bodyguard when the mood strikes, but more often than not finding myself craving the bloodshed of a gladiatorial arena. Pit fighting, illegal matches, back alleys, it didn't matter to her. Fighting was her life, it was how she survived, and how she kept putting one foot in front of the other.