Sera Kennithson 

Sera n'avait jamais été aussi apte qu'au cours des mois qui ont précédé le cauchemar à venir. Elle n'avait jamais été inapte physiquement, mais au fil des années son esprit était entré dans une chute de la monotonie de la vie quotidienne, d'un manque de la magie de lancer de toute description. Et, qui sait peut-être que se transformer en créatures stupides lui a fait un peu de mal. Elle doutait de cette dernière partie.
La ville dans laquelle elle vivait n'avait jamais été aussi vivante non plus. Sera avait en quelque sorte transformé tout l'endroit en son propre terrain d'entraînement personnel. Les enfants l'ont poursuivie dans les rues, les poulets sont devenus des cibles pour sa pratique magique - bien qu'elle ne l'ait pas dit au fermier. Les pots sont devenus la cible de son quaterstaff. Attends non, c'était le vent. Certainement le vent.
Le jour où le rêve est venu, elle était prête, en portant son vieux chapeau de mère, juste une dernière fois. Elle a marché. Elle ne savait pas où, c'est tout ce qu'on lui a dit. Continuez à marcher jusqu'à ce que vous atteigniez le portail.
Et puis elle l'a fait. Elle s'est sentie groggy. Et puis elle s'est évanouie.
Elle s'est réveillée dans une cellule, sombre et carrément méchante à ça. Elle s'est brouillée un moment, s'est mise aux pieds et a essayé d'obtenir ses repères. La porte de la cellule était fermée. Elle ne pouvait pas être piégée ici. Ce ne serait pas juste! Elle a tiré à la porte. Rien. Elle a encore essayé. Et puis il a donné un coup de pied dans la frustration; il s'est ouvert.
Bien sûr que c'était une poussée. L'asile dans lequel elle se trouvait était entaillé, ce qui était évident. Il y avait un ensemble d'escaliers dans le couloir à l'extérieur de la cellule dans laquelle elle avait atterri. Elle était juste en train de les descendre quand un bruit lui a attiré l'intérêt.
Pad, pad, pad le bruit des pas. D'au-dessus d'elle quelque part. Sera a pris un moment à considérer, ou du moins à prétendre à considérer avant qu'elle commence à monter cet escalier étroit jusqu'à l'étage suivant. Elle ne pouvait pas s'en empêcher quand il s'agissait d'un mystère.
Name:
Sera Kennithson
Age: 
28
Gender:
Female
Race:
Shapeshifter
Height: 
5'6

Weapon of choice:
Quaterstaves
Occupation:
Hunter
Lore:
Born from an ungodly ritual of flesh and bone, ignoring natures laws and existing outside of the realms of mortal mans understanding. An ungodly ritual, carried out by an ungodly woman. A woman, who however wicked for stepping outside of these mortal restraints, was undoubtedly Sera's mother.
Before Sera, her mother would happily have lived on the run from those who hunted her kind down - the witch hunters. But a child can change a woman, and when you're child's special you go out of your way to protect them. Oh, believe me Sera wasn't special in a way that made her a prodigy, or even a chosen one. In fact, she was special in a way that was unsavoury to those that met her. She was a shapeshifter, a side effect from the ritual used to create her being. On a glance she looked human sure, but the whole thing had left her eyes darkened and black. A give away that she was unnatural, and her mother was a witch.
Sera would do anything for her mother, she uprooted her entire livelihood to run away with her. To a land of promise, a land where she and her mother wouldn't be hunted down. Arkanshire.
Alas, no tale of witchcraft in a land of religious zealots can ever seem to have a happy ending. For years the two had hidden together, Sera's mother protecting her through day and night. As soon as Sera reached her teenage years and could control her power, she was old enough to understand. Old enough to run from the blighted land. Towards Arkanshire at last.
Their plan was obvious, too obvious. It had been done before and the hunters had tracked their every move. Before they could reach the border they were ambushed. They put up a damned good fight. Sera's mother. She told her to run. To hide. To take the shape of whatever would keep her safe. Her last words were those of love, as her body hit the ground. Lifeless and still.
That night, Sera mourned. She cried like the babe she once was. But pressed on all the same, taking with her the typical witches hat that her mother had always adorned. She came upon a small Arkanshire village, and there she took up residence. Broken in spirit, she cared not for where she lived.
She took up a job, to make ends meat. A hunter, perfect for a shapeshifter. Hiding in plain sight. There she stayed for years, as she slowly but surely rebuilt herself. A new woman. She dropped her mothers name, took up her own. Kennithson. It wasn't as pretty, but it did the job. She distanced herself from the woman who loved her unconditionally, so to prevent her heart from aching any more. Holding on to only her mothers hat as it became worn and tattered.
But then, Sera heard rumours. Of a dream, a dream where anything could become possible.
This dream of Arkanshire, it made even the gods mortal for a time.
A sick plan formed within Sera's mind, a twisted plan of vengeance. For she had grown bitter in her years. Resentment formed into hatred. If she could enter this Arkanshire dream, she could do something that would strike at the core of that country who hunter her mother down.
She could kill their god. And what is a country of religion, when their god is no more?
She had become her mothers daughter indeed as she began her preparations, for the next dream that opened, she would enter.
Extra Info:
- Sera is capable of magic, not a great deal but enough. Her mother had taught her illusions, mind altering spells. Had she lived longer, she would have taught her to tear minds apart with these spells. But alas, simply tricks of the mind is all she is capable of.