Feral Ember
From Unofficial Handbook of the Virtue Universe
| |
| "little fire making thing" | |
| Feral Ember | |
| Player: @Rapunzel | |
| Origin: | Mutation |
|---|---|
| Archetype: | Tanker |
| Security Level: | 26 |
| Personal Data | |
| Real Name: | Unknown, probably unpronounceable |
| Known Aliases: | None |
| Species: | highly mutated human |
| Age: | Unknown, early sexual maturity |
| Height: | 4'2" |
| Weight: | 67lbs |
| Eye Color: | black |
| Hair Color: | white-silver-grey |
| Biographical Data | |
| Nationality: | Tribe of the Taroth |
| Occupation: | none |
| Place of Birth: | a barely civilized planet of another plane |
| Base of Operations: | Perez Park |
| Marital Status: | lone hunter |
| Known Relatives: | Gariss (deceased brother) |
| Known Powers | |
| seems to erupt into flame, more or less under her control, uses this to propel her through the air as well as hunt | |
| Known Abilities | |
| incredible metabolism and quick healing abilities | |
| Equipment | |
| She barely wears clothes, much less carries tools. Everything can burn. | |
| Ember is a rough, primitive character | |
Contents |
Mature Content Warning
That means that if you are twelve, don't know how to clear your cache, and your mother comes after me for writing dirty stories on the internet, I will come to your house and give both you and your parents a lecture on personal responsibility, trust, honesty, and fantasy's place in sexuality. It will be the most excruciatingly embarrassing hours of your young life.
Can't say I didn't warn you.
Personality and RP with Ember
Ember has a bare grasp on the English language, coupled with a deep disrespect of prey species that can make discussions with her more blunt than many people are used to. She is a protector on the hunt, working for the honor of her ancestors, and she will refuse to back down from a hunt. Those whose skills in the hunt impress her will gain her respect, all others are superfluous. She has some amount of fear and awe for high magics.
Powers and Abilities
Ember exudes and ignites light hydrocarbons around her body, acting as a wick in an oil lamp. She has learned to focus her fire making abilities, but they still escape her control in times of high emotional stress. When she is on her game, however, she can explode in all directions, or only one, or even propel herself through the air with focused bursts of flame. Her species is known for its reflexes, healing abilities, and fierce nature.
In The Beginning
“When the world was young, and there were no tribes to honor the gods, the gods spread across the world to find those worthy to worship them. A god came to the plains in the shape of a great golden buffalo and cavorted with the taroth, but could not be caught by any pack, running over the plains like the wind. The god became bored of this unchallenging game until he found a taroth pack that was stronger, faster, smarter than the rest. It did not hunt straight on, but rather in groups, driving the god over the land in shifts, and after days of endless hunt, the taroth pack fell on the god-buffalo but did not eat him up, rather saw him for what he was and fell to the ground in fear. The god was pleased by the pack and made them to stand to be closer to him and so became the first Tribe, giving them the horns of the buffalo so that they would remember not only their baser beginnings, but the hunt that made them stand.”
Hers was the people of the northern plains, the Tribe of the taroth, the grey-black cats that hunt the great golden buffalo, the smallest of the twelve Great Tribes, with smaller family tribe units than the herd-Tribes or the bird-Tribes. They were compact in form, hardy small hunters with pelts like their namesake, ranging in color from near-white to a deep grey, with patterns and pure blacks being rare. Long claws on paw-like fingers and feet, pelts soft and thick over shoulders and chest, lighter on face and legs, long and silky on head and wrists and ankles. They walked upright, like the monkeys, and there was a tribe with monkey teeth that came to the Great Meet, but The Tribe of the taroth kept the whisper soft language of the wind in the plains, with guttural coughs and rolling throat purrs, sharp fangs showed their relatives, even as they hunted with them.
Her father was the headman of her tribe, she the child of his autumn life, freer than most tribespeople knew to be. Her eldest brother was raised to be headsman after her father, the next male given to be trained as a shaman for the tribe of the bear, her sisters given in marriage to other tribes at the last Great Meet, cementing the tribe’s alliances and blood lines to all the Tribes. The two children too young to be traded off were her and her next older brother, Gariss. Gariss trained to be a warrior, a protector of the tribe to honor the gods, and she waited on her father during the day, and at night Gariss would share what he had learned. They hid the teachings, taboo for females of the tribe, but she and Gariss had always been inseperable, and they would be protectors of legend, for in legend there were female warriors, even female protectors – and those were her favorite hearth stories.
And then war came to the Tribes, alliances broken and made again and her tribe caught with a headsman too old to battle, and when he was brought down, one too young to be experienced. Finally she fought side by side with Gariss, sure that they would save the tribe and find their place in the legends of their gods, the hearth stories for taroth children. But Gariss fell and she was disarmed by a more experienced warrior than she, who would not give her the warrior’s death, but rather the woman’s capture. As the way with the Tribes, the remainders of the shattered tribe became something to be split among the victors. She went not to another tribe of taroth, where she would live as a slave at the lowest fire, but remain a member of the Tribe, allowed to mate and her children having the opportunity to be hunters, warriors, even shamen. She went to one of the boat people, the merchant tribes of the giant mth, the fish who swim to the sun every autumn and return to the inner sea in the spring, the Tribe who follows them, ranging so far they may only Meet every third year. They were the richest of the Tribes, one of the few who dealt with those outside, trading news between the tribes and crafts to the outsiders. She, a few others of her tribe, and a few more of the other defeated tribespeople were loaded on the mth boats, painted in colors and smelling of people too close together. The long voyage down the river showed her more kinds of land than she knew existed even in stories – mountains of rock and snow, forests so deep there was no sun at noon, tepid jungles with sweat that itched under her fur.
And she was brought to her first slave market, her first sight of outsiders. The tribesmen of the mth were taller and slighter than her people, their smooth pelts in more colors, but that did not prepare her for the chaos of the market, the creatures of all colors, some nearly hairless, feeling as small as a kitten in the noise and buildings, made buildings with rooms one atop another, made from stones and shaped dried mud. Her hunter trained mind, searching for the slightest motion or noise, was drowned in the babble of unfamiliar tongues, the motion of too many beings, and before she truly understood the mth was pushing her toward a grinning, hungry, hairless monkey wrapped in colored cloth that would be worth a tribe’s fortune back home. She had a hair ribbon that color from the last Great Meet, a strip of fabric in taroth blood red, her brother had traded three dawn-gold buffalo furs for it. The man was easily twice her height, seeming to block out the sun, big, clumsy bones and smooth skin with no pelt. The mth talked in some strange tongue with the man, arguing, two of them held her arms which made her struggle and cry out, even though they told her to be still. The man crouched down and touched her face, peering into her eyes, his pupils were round, like a cow's, not slit like hers. He talked to the mth holding her, more man garble and his hands explored her, ignoring her struggles as he reached her breasts, stroking her pelt smooth over her ribs. He pulled her loin-skin from her like it was something he didn't like touching, dropping in in the dirt of the market. She kicked at him and he caught her by her thighs, forcing her legs spread and pulling her netherlips open. The mth were laughing with him as he pushed a finger into her. He stopped when he found resistance, she felt him pause and saw his expression change for a moment, flickering quickly back to bawdy amusement. He rubbed her horn, wrapping his fingers around it possessively, testing the weight of it and the tone of the discussion became recognizable, even if the words weren't. They were bartering, trading. He gave them a sack of metal bits, and it slowly came to her that they were bartering with her.
She stopped in the marketplace, too far from her home culture to understand the implications – slaves were not given from tribe to tribe, working on the boat made sense, not going with this monkey. The man dropped a noose over her head, rope tightened around her throat as she resisted. He tugged harder, putting his weight into moving the smaller creature, she let him overbalance, springing to catch him full in the chest with hands and feet, knocking him to the ground, clawing his fat face before shredding the noose and leaping into the chaos of the crowd. It was her first escape.
Some later attempts went better, some went worse than the chase through the marketplace. The slaver grew tired, but the soldiers who kept the peace did not, or at least not all of them. They knew the market's roads and out numbered her, and were full sized men with weapons, once they got her cornered the fight was brief - a few men went home with deep scratches, the one who bound her hands got bitten for his trouble, but her first escape was failed when it began. She was returned to her new owner with a fine for her disturbances, explained in the mouth-tongue she would eventually learn. And he paid, seemingly unperturbed by the fortunes she had cost him. He was wearing a white bandage that glowed against his dusky skin, cleaned from where she had clawed his face. The soldiers had dropped her on the floor of his tent, bound like an animal, breathing hard and trying to glare at him as he towered over her, plant eating teeth shining in the half light.
He kicked her without warning and she heard herself crying out, mewling and trying to get away from him. As quickly as he began, he stopped, stopping to pet her hair and she felt a sharp pinch in her neck. She whimpered again and struggled but he held her head still, pressed to the ground by his big hand, and when he released her her she saw what he had done. He was holding a little sharp thing that had drunk her blood and was full of it, like a large bug with no wings. She screamed protest and struggled against her bonds, but he only laughed and handed the bug to another, giving serious mouth noise instructions.
He picked her up easily by her bonds, her struggles just causing more strain on her limbs, an took her out of her world entirely. She screamed as they approached the portal, spinning and smelling like lightning, but he was unconcerned ad simply carried her through it to the next step in her never ending nightmare. The new place was bright shining stone and machines, and smelled indescribable, like nothing natural she had ever encountered. The man with her was greeted in the passageways, she was looked at with curiosity. They went through many turns, into cages that jerked and moved, and she became lost.
The following days were full of unfamiliar and violent humiliations. She was bound to a metal plate, her limbs spread uncomfortably taut, the equipment built for creature far larger than her. They sprayed her with water and soap scrubbing and cleaning her throughly, mechanically, trimming her pelt. The forced a bit into her mouth and pressed a vibrating metal monster against her teeth. She was never alone, rarely able to sleep as they moved her from torture to torture. They learned to keep her locked in rooms as well as bound after she escaped a few times. She never found open air, her panicked runs through expensive equipment found her quickly enough.
After determining that she could not bring enough force to bear to escape them she began to focus on learning. Learning their tongue, learning where she was, and what they were doing. She learned their faces memorizing each new torture, each new “test”, and who she would punish when the time came. She learned who had rank, and who didn't. The man who found her had more rank than anyone else she saw, but he made decisions with weight like a shaman, in the name of an absent god. She learned from their arguments that they were looking for something, something for her, that would make her ready for “Master”. The day too many people came into her room, with only one glass bug, she knew they thought they had found it. The first man smiled when one of the lower rank men handed him the bug and he held her still, the bug biting into her neck. The world went cool and dim...and dark.
“She'll be grog-ie for a bit, but she'll wake up fast, sir. Her met-able-ism is fast.” Hands stroked over her shoulder and spine, she was on something soft, that smelled like burning herbs.
“She is... ex-ah-tick, you've done well, no one has anything like her. And you say she is untouched?”
“Yes sir. And she has fight. She's waking, you should bind her now, if you are going to insist on letting her wake.” The fingers had slipped to her hip and she forced herself to relax, feigning sleep as the big hand turned her over, idly exploring her netheregion. The fingers left her and something heavy clamped around her ankle.
“She is so small. That's my smallest and-kuf. I'm having a new set made for her.” The voice sounded proud, happy, more relaxed than any man she had heard so far.
“Very good sir.”
“I want to see how she managed to do so much. She hardly seems able to...”
“She is, sir. We had to stop uhn-der-sstim-ate-ng her ourselves. And... don't worry about hurting her. She heals quickly.”
“She is human rhel-a-tive though? She seems...”
“I know. Have you seen her teeth? Highly mutated from human, but the dee-ehn-eh tests show she's legal. And mature – full grown.” The fingers had continued their explorations, extending her claws, and pulling her lips back to see her fangs. She bit him then, clawing for the new man's throat as soon as she could open her eyes, tasting his blood. He was big, bigger than the man from the market, with piercing blue eyes. She took in the room in a glance, the fanciest pallet she had ever seen, benches of fabrics and cushions, and weapons she could use. The shining gold chain on her ankle connected to a post of the pallet. The big man bellowed like a taroth and she squared off with him, turning to get closer to the weapons rack. He smiled and grabbed for her with one hand, then the other, watching her jump back each time. She leapt for the rack, reaching for the smallest sword, what gave her the best chance of being able to use, she realized he had been playing with her as well as she had been playing with him. He grabbed her out of the air and threw her into the carved wooden wall at the head of the pallet. Her teeth carved into her lip and her blood mixed with his in her mouth. His laugh shook the bed.
“Leave us. I want to show our new one the difference between her little men and real ones.” He grabbed her ankle chain and pulled her off the bed, dumping her on the floor. The man from the market bowed and left, the big doors shutting behind him loudly. The big man was his absent god, his “Master”. She scrabbled to her feet and grabbed the sword from the rack. The big man laughed again, like rolling thunder, dropping his robe on the floor and advancing on her.
She had seen her people mate before, the wedding chase ending with men growing stiff and large, forcing a woman to the ground and impaling her with their nethersword. But no wedding chase held a woman captive, unable to run, and the “Master” was not a man of the taroth. He had almost no pelt, his nethersword was hairless, like a pink worm. What made her pause was the sheer size of it. They stood, facing each other, and his nether sword pointed at her face, thick, hairless shaft thicker than her wrist. His muscled body was cut with scars, spelling the life of a warrior – and one good enough to live to be rich and old. A headman who had earned his tribe, then, not born to it.
He casually took up a sword of his own from the rack, barely seeming to care about the scratches at his neck, or the blood coming from his hand. She saw her eyes sweep over his body. “Do you like what you see, little one? Its alright you make me bleed, you know you will bleed soon enough.” She struck at him with her blade and he blocked it easily, striking her with the flat of his sword hard enough to make her hiss. He toyed with her, letting her close then sweeping her legs from under her, letting her run out the length of her chain, driving her like an animal. He kept his advantage of reach, not letting her sink her claws and teeth into his fragile skin. She lost her grip on her blade and he knocked it far from her reach. He pressed the point of his sword into the hollow of her throat, backing her against the post of his bed, then pressing deeper, raising a drop of blood, shining through the fur. He was sweating, water beading on his bare skin, and she was breathing with her mouth open, panting softly.
“That's a good pet.” She hissed, clawing at the sword, ignoring how it cut her hands. He trailed the sharp tip down her chest, her stomach, keeping her pressed back into the heavy carved wood, leaving a clean scratch down her torso. She struggled, but not hard enough to impale her soft stomach on his sword. He dug it in a bit deeper over her pelvic bone, slipping the cold metal over her clit, making her jump, and deep between her netherlips, spreading her slightly open, forcing her up on tiptoes. “I could make you take this like it was a man, little one.” Fear spiked through her then, adrenaline giving her speed and strength, she jumped upward, catching herself on the post, eye to eye with the man. He was surprised for a moment, but he had a hunter's speed and the sharp metal was quickly thrust back between her netherlips, cutting her. She mewled and squirmed and he laughed. “Oh you are a fas-in-ate-ng pet. You understand what I say. Taming you will be a great joy. No more games now, on the bed, its time for you to learn your purpose, pet.”
He grabbed her hands, pulling her off the post, for one sickening moment she was held up only by his sword before he forced her into the soft fabric, her wrists pulled high above her head, her face pushed down into the cushions. She struggled as he pulled her hips into the air, forcing his hand between her shuddering thighs and drawing her open, her strength fading in the aftermath of the spike of adrenaline, the days of fear and struggle sapping her will. His big, hard fingers stroked over her cut lips, spreading her blood over her tiny hole, shoving his thumb into her. He tugged her thighs further apart, pulling the bones of her hips almost out of joint. His breathing was rough, his strength undeniable, ignoring her howls and struggles, forcing her body in line with his nethersword.
He took her the first time that night, and time and time again after, but despite his violations and his focused attempts at breaking her body and her will, she remained angry and disobedient. As fast as she healed, he left his mark on her body in the form of piercings, rings through her nipples, clit and labia. In the end, he could dress her up, or paint her with gems, but he could not make her obey of her own will. After months of being his plaything, his acolyte found him a new amusement, and the Master turned his failed feral pet over to the Council's laboratories for experimentation. The researchers were interested in her history as a slave, but eventually their interest in her anatomy turned clinical.
Her blood was hot and rich, her body restored itself at an amazing rate, processing almost anything into something usable. They began to expose her to more and more exotic chemicals, testing her limits. Her body did react, eventually. One of the poisons they saturated her with catalyzed a process that resulted in her exuding light hydrocarbons with her sweat. With heightened emotions her body temperature would raise drastically and ignite around her, making her a wick for a very hot candle. Finally, she had a weapon that would allow her to escape. She exploded in the lab, burning her latest tormentors and most of their equipment. She made her way to Paragon City, evicting some Hellions from prime real estate in Perez Park. She was drawn to green places, where she could be with nature and try to feel safe. It was during one of her nightly fights for territory that she met her first hero, who swooped in to save her and tried to lead her out of the park. The cape got a swipe to the face for their trouble, but Ember became aware that there were other tribes in her new hunting grounds and set out to make Meet with them.
Her demands fell on mute ears and she got directed to the Hero Registration desk by a friendly passerby. The registrar suggested the name "Ember" and informed her that it meant "little, fire making thing" which she proudly took as her new name. She was disappointed that the ID card resisted all attempts to eat it, and did not taste very good either. The mediport system still freaks her out, too many bad memories associated with clinical surroundings, but she has painted her face with the markings of a the protector she always wanted to be, now protecting the weak, odd, ape tribes of Paragon City. Her Tribe may have fallen, but she remains upright, honoring her ancestors with her deeds.
