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Katrina

"They'll be singing songs about my deeds one day, just you wait and see!"

0 · 397 views · located in Magvel

a character in “Fire Emblem: Conquest”, as played by Stitches

Description

ImageName: Katrina.
Age: Twenty-three.
Gender: Female.
Nationality: Renais.
Appearance: She dresses in dark colours, garbed to blend in with the shadows. Her hair is a nightshade blue, reaching a fair distance down her back. Unlike other females, Katrina chooses to wear a body suit, covering her legs. Her mouth is covered with a mask, removed only when angry, to state a heated point. Her frame is petite, but toned and she stands of an average height.
Personality: Quick to temper would be putting it mildly. Katrina has a rough and fiery attitude. She is rash, cocky and tends to act before thoroughly considering the consequences of her actions. Her wild temperament means social interactions can be found difficult. She has a sharp tongue, but is however brutally honest. Beneath Katrina’s callous attitude beats a heart that is loyal and a determination to succeed even when the outlook is at it’s very worse.

Class: Myrmidon.

Starting Stats:

HP: 16
Str: 4 (+1)
Mag: 0
Skl: 1 (+2)
Spd: 9 (+2)
Luk: 10
Def: 4
Res: 1
Mov: 5
Sword Level: E

Growth Rates:

HP: 100%
Str: 70%
Mag: 0%
Skl: 60%
Spd: 60%
Luk: 30%
Def: 20%
Res: 10%

Starting Inventory:
Iron Sword.
Vulneraries (x2).
Luck Potion (x2).

Strengths: Katrina has been gifted with superior speed and skill, giving her the edge over enemies such as mages and thieves, often disposing of them with a swift slash of the sword.

Weaknesses: Whilst Katrina can handle lightly garbed enemies with ease, she struggles greatly when confronted by a enemy equipped with heavy armour. She can get the first blow in, but due to her defence being rather questionable, if she cannot evade a counter-attack the result could be devastating.

History: Katrina was a privileged child, born to wealthy merchant parents. Her parents always encouraged her to be whatever her heart desired, however, a sell-sword was not what either of them had in mind. Whilst tearing through the town one day in her younger years, Katrina witnessed two swordsmen training. Whilst watching behind the safety of an old wicker basket, she gazed dumbfounded as the two danced around one another, their weapons gracefully connecting with a smooth *clank.* Their skill, perfect timing and swift movements hypnotised the impressionable child. It was from that moment on Katrina, equipped with a makeshift wooden sword, dreamt of nothing other than being an incredible sword wielder.

At the age of sixteen, she had left the comfort of her parent’s manor and begun her journey. Her father had brought her the finest of swords for her travels, resembling a katana it was a perfect size and weight for the girl to master. Till her final teenage year Katrina had travelled far and wide, saving farmer’s cattle from predators, chasing away wolves which lurked around the edge of quaint towns and driving away rookie bandits who hung suspiciously around wandering merchants. Her reputation was established through her good deeds, though considered still to be a rookie, she was noted for her bravery and dedication to fight for justice.

At the age of twenty, Katrina returned to her home town. There she kept the thieves and beggars in order, whilst keeping a watchful eye over her ageing parents.

A handful of years later and rumours started to creep through the town. After hearing of the threat which sits on Grado’s border, Katrina decided to once again leave the comfort of her home town. She was to make her way towards the border, check the threat for herself. She came to this decision partly because she loved Renais, and would fight to the last breathe to protect the land and it’s people, and partly because deep inside she longed to prove herself a great sword’s master. Though there is room for a great deal of improvement with her swordsmanship, Katrina has the speed and the skill that could make her a formidable foe. Saying a fond farewell again to her family, Katrina makes her way hastily towards the border.

So begins...

Katrina's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Harlaus Tyberry Character Portrait: Oskar Character Portrait: Lenore Character Portrait: Katrina Character Portrait: Eris Character Portrait: Donovan Hirsteck
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“Bandits! Bandits are everywhere!” Katrina shrieked with glee, rubbing her hands furiously together with great enthusiasm. “Alas, but where to start?” She had a great lust for combat, and loved beating the bad guys. For days Katrina had been travelling, moving swiftly by day, sleeping but a wink at night. The journey had been an uneventful one. The eager young woman had been tempted to hurl a rock or two at the stray dogs that she had encountered on the way, just to instigate some form of action. Though desperate for a brawl, her conscience had stopped her in her tracks. After all, those poor, scraggy mutts were merely minding their own business, not harming anyone.

Katrina had initially entered the town to find an Inn, have a flagon of ale and small talk with the innkeeper. It was no secret that innkeepers were usually the hottest source of gossip. They would see allsorts of clients flitter through, and would want to pass on tales of the oddities that they had witnessed. Upon her arrival in the quaint village she had stumbled across something far better than a questionable piece of tattle.

She unsheathed her sword, in a sharp to the point manner, the blade’s tip pointing towards a rogue bandit who was running clumsily toward her. “Woah there, what seems to be the rush?” The unshaven man grunted, stopping clumsily in his tracks and eyeing Katrina over suspiciously as though hurriedly looking for an opening. He grunted again, his dirt cloaked face with now lit with a wry smile. Katrina kept perfectly still, the tip of the sword still focused directly at the bandit. She drummed the hilt lightly with her fingers, still focused and still reading her foe’s movements. The bandit hurled his sword past her own, making a messy strike at Katrina’s ribs. The young woman simply stepped to the side and with a flick of her wrist, circled her blade and locked the bandit’s sword, her quick motion drawing the confused man’s sword right out of his hands.

For a moment the bandit’s eyes seemed wide in a state of shock and confusion. Once regaining his composure, although still flustered, the embarrassed enemy lunged for his sword, which had previously landed with a splosh, in the muddy ground. Katrina saw this coming and as the man knelt down she drew her sword upwards, the tip towards the sky. As opposed to slashing the foe Katrina simply drew the hilt of her sword down with all of her might, striking the bandit’s forehead. The man’s unconscious body sunk into the ground, buried in the grime.

“And the people go wild! Please, ladies and gentlemen, save your applause..” she trailed off after realising that she had been unintentionally performing a sly little victory dance. Her eyes darted left, then right, checking that nobody was there to witness that outburst. “Alright, onwards! Anybody out there in need of a hero?” Katrina bellowed, her voice resounding. She tore through the area, searching for yet more action.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Harlaus Tyberry Character Portrait: Oskar Character Portrait: Lenore Character Portrait: Katrina Character Portrait: Eris Character Portrait: Donovan Hirsteck
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#, as written by Flexar
To Oskar's surprise, one of the bandits charging at him was struck by an explosion of light, throwing him off balance. A second burst followed, killing him. For a moment, Oskar almost believed that he had received divine aid, but soon realised that the aid had come from a lady standing on the other side of the bandits.
“Keep them off me, and there’s more where that came from.”
Oskar wasn't about to argue, so he gave her a nod, and rushed over to her. However, a bandit leaped in front of Oskar, lance poised to impale him. Oskar quickly stepped to the right and the lance merely nicked his left shoulder pad. While the bandit was off guard from the momentum of his lunge, Oskar swung his sword into the brigand's back, severing his spine and tearing his lungs. Oskar yanked the blade from the brigand's torso and hurried over to the woman who had saved him earlier.

It quickly became evident that even more help was on the way. To Oskar's disbelief, a man descended from the sky on a wyvern, forcing his way through the mob of bandits and sliced open the face of one. He was garbed in the armour of a Grado soldier, which would explain the wyvern and the precise way in which he fought. To think that Grado was coming to the aid of Renais' citizens before Renais itself...
"Sir, is this inn still open?"
What an odd question. Still, that didn't mean that Oskar shouldn't answer it.
"I wouldn't expect so." Oskar replied, "Maybe it will be once we've done away with these scum."

Oskar heard a whooshing noise and one of the bandit suddenly dropped dead. Oskar looked down at him, and saw that he had an arrow driven into his skull. Oskar looked around, and noticed a slight figure with a bow lurking in the spire of the town hall. They were a good shot, and Oskar hoped that they were capable of distinguishing who was and wasn't a bandit from up there.

"I will sell you my aid but we'll have to talk payment later. If you all are still alive."
Oskar looked over to see a rather apathetic young woman in the garb of a thief, spraying bits of chewed up apple as she spoke. He wasn't too happy about the way that she was forcing payment on them, but she was armed, and any help they could get against the bandits would be good.

“Alright, onwards! Anybody out there in need of a hero?”
Well, Oskar was certainly attracting a crowd. While Oskar wouldn't say that he needed a hero, help would certainly be nice.
"Over here would be nice!" Oskar called out.

This time, two bandits tried charging Oskar together. They both swung their axes down at him simultaneously, so Oskar raised his blade in defense, holding the hilt in one hand and pressing the other against the flat side of the blade in order to support it. The axes resounded off it, and Oskar swung it down at one of the two, splitting his skull open. However, his friend took the opportunity to swing his axe at Oskar. Oskar didn't quite react in time to dodge; the axe missed his head but bit into his right arm. Oskar cursed loudly and proceeded to decapitate his aggressor. There were still plenty left, and he was wounded already.
"Somebody go and kill their leader!" Oskar called out, "I'll continue to hold them here!"
Perhaps they would lose hope and flee if their leader was slain. However, Oskar couldn't see killing a dark mage as an easy task; it certainly wasn't one that he was up for.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Harlaus Tyberry Character Portrait: Oskar Character Portrait: Lenore Character Portrait: Katrina Character Portrait: Eris Character Portrait: Donovan Hirsteck
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#, as written by Guest
It would seem that the little cobbled effort to shove the bandits off had gained more help, and Lenore turned to meet another foe, drawing her sword in just enough time to watch an arrow thud into him, taking him down. Following the likely trajectory, she picked out what must have been the archer’s silhouette and nodded at it curtly. It was quite the shot, even for someone who knew little beyond the basics of such weapons. She was certainly far from good enough to use one in an actual battle.

The man with the wyvern was a bit of a surprise, particularly as he did not seem to see the need to actually defeat the bandits, initially just shoving through them and asking inane questions until it became evident—as he should have been able to guess from the get-go—that they weren’t just going to let him waltz around their battlefield. Well, whatever the case, he seemed to be quite effective in dispatching them, so she could hardly care if he was a bit slow on the uptake. She hoped whomever this mercenary fellow was had money, though, because she n longer had a cent to her name with which to pay this other person, and she wasn’t particularly inclined to negotiate the point. Still, it wasn’t like she was the one that had taken the woman up on her offer, so she could hardly be considered beholden.

Lenore almost turned her head at the entrance of the last person, who boldly shouted something about heroes or something of this nature, and frankly, she had no idea what that was all about. Still, losing focus right now could mean her death, and she had no desire to meet that today. The mercenary suggested—wisely, if perhaps a little prematurely—that someone should deal with the leader, and Lenore’s eyes locked onto the shaman with an assessing curiosity. She was probably the best suited for the task—her light magic would be useful against his dark, and as a fellow magic user, she had some defenses against his power. For a moment, her confidence wavered even so—there were a lot of bandits to get through before she could even take him on…

And then the second wyvern appeared, swooping down from the sky in a practiced maneuver, the momentum of which lent the rider’s axe-blow enough force to nearly cleave the head of the nearest bandit in two. The man atop it, tall and blond, from what she could observe, glanced over at her with razor-edged focus, then raised a brow. “You look like you want to go forward. Go. Harlaus and I will clear a path, won’t we, Harlaus?” He spoke loud enough for the other wyvern rider to hear, though something he was communicating in his look wasn’t what he was saying. It was as though he were asking for something, even though his tone was clearly one of command.

Whatever the case, Lenore had the only opportunity she was likely to get, and, leaving the people with swords to deal with the encroaching swarm of bandits, she followed the man on the black wyvern, watching as he—surprisingly-- dodged a spear-blow aimed for the center of his chest. The wyvern itself roared, a sound of gravelly, harsh pitch, and the man’s axe slammed twice in quick succession into the bandit, dropping him as well. He wasn’t quite so swift the next time, and an axehead buried itself in the shoulder of his off hand. With a hiss and a glare, the man pulled it free and hurled it back at the thrower, who was not wearing much armor and took it full in the chest cavity.

Lenore figured she could contribute as well, and so when another tried to flank him, she gathered the magic at her fingertips, the low, rhythmic chanting that accompanied the spell louder in her ears than the rush of her blood, but only just. It hit hard with no resistance to stop it, and that brigand joined the pile of them that the group was accumulating overall.

When it came time to confront the boss, however, the wyvern rider hung back, and she knew this was a job she couldn’t count on too much assistance from him for. Probably because it was magic, and few people really knew how to deal with that. She shot a glance at the place she’d seen the archer before, hoping that maybe she could count on his or her assistance for this, but it was probably better to assume that she could not. Taking a deep breath, Lenore reached for the wellspring of her power, like a small trickle of water, and shaped it to her will. The light manifested quickly, but when she shot it for the shaman, she knew almost immediately that it would not damage him near as much as his underlings.

The returning volley was a cloud of powerful, but slow, dark magic, and she skittered to the side, taking the blow on the left side of her abdomen rather than full in the chest, as it had been aimed. Even so, it hurt worse than most things she could remember, and Lenore struggled to suck in air. She could feel the stirring of a cough deep in her lungs, but this was not the time, and with great effort, she breathed past it, drawing her sword in a swift motion and charging with a cry. She ducked the next magical strike, spinning around to the side and torqueing her abdomen to add as much force as she could to the blow. She was not very strong, but she was quick, and she sliced him twice before she was forced to step back, leaving one deep gash on his right bicep and another diagonal down his chest.

He wasn’t dead yet, though, and she did not relish drawing this out much longer.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Calais Character Portrait: Oskar Character Portrait: Lenore Character Portrait: Katrina Character Portrait: Eris Character Portrait: Veldahar
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The white sands of the Jehannan desert soon gave way to endless hills of green foliage. The sky overhead, usually a clear azure, was now covered in rolling clouds of gray. It was unlike anything he had seen before. And then the rain. It started off as a light mist. Just a simple nod to the fact that the boy was so far from home. It soon evolved into heavy droplets that fell rhythmically, like the beats of hundreds of tiny drummers.

It would have been considered peaceful, beautiful even...if Calais wasn't so goddamn lost.

The young man's journeys had taken him all the way from the wastelands of Jehanna, west to Renais and dangerously close to Grado. Calais was used to traveling. His tribe would pick up and move six or seven times a year, sometimes more. But despite all that, the fact remained that he wasn't very worldly. With the lush foliage on the trees and the vast stretches of prairie, the boy had never seen so much green before. And the rain... The desert was lucky if a passing shower would even make the sands damp. Now as he trekked over the hills and through the fields, it had started up. Feeling the first of many droplets hit his tanned skin, Calais found himself grinning with excitement. He turned his head up and opened his mouth wide, arms outstretched and laughing like a fool. It felt wonderful. The light splashes cooled his face and hit his tongue. More and more the rains fell, growing intense, steadier and wetter and -

'I'm drowning...'

Calais began to cough and sputter, gasping for air as he desperately tried to clear his throat of water. His cheeks turned read and he choked violently.

Just then, a flash of lightning was seen far into the horizon, and seconds later, he heard his very first clap of thunder. It boomed and echoed, shaking him to the core. He'd though he let out a yelp, but the crash was too loud to be entirely sure. It was at this moment on this day that Calais decided he hated rain.

Desperate to find shelter, he ran. Up ahead was a village. Surely there would be shelter there. As he continued running, the young man took note that his pockets were not jingling and soon remembered that he was without any coin at all. His stride slowed until he eventually came to a stop, arms limp at his side as he looked about mournfully. Searching behind the village inn, his eyes spotted a large oak tree. Its branches reached out far and were covered in large, dense leaves. Calais turned and made his way toward the tree, smiling at his own resourcefulness. After all, what better place to take shelter outside in a storm than under a tree?

Curling up into a ball for warmth, the young man watched the horrible rain fall upon the village. Soon his eyes grew heavy and he allowed himself to shut them, on the condition that it only be for a moment...


...a loud noise jolted him from his sleep. It wasn't like the thunder before it. No...this was different. Higher pitched...less intense. Rubbing his eyes, Calais struggled to get his bearings. Rain still poured from overhead. As he hugged his knees tighter and looked around for the source of the noise, his gaze fell upon something in the distance.

A flash at first. Light reflecting on metal. It was a blade of some sort. An axe. Held high up on a man's shoulder. A large man. He was barechested, his muscular body glistening in the rain. Next to him was another, equally large man. A bear pelt was draped over his shoulders. They drew closer, striding confidently up to where Calais was seated under the tree. When they were but a few feet in front of him, he could make out their faces. Both men were grinning.

Calais smiled back.

"Hey there! Have you come to get out of the rain too?"

The two men's features narrowed a bit as they stood before him.

"There's plenty of room, here..." Calais got to his knees and dusted his trousers off. "I'll just move over like this, see? And - "

A dull thunk sounded near the boy's head. Confused, he turned and looked up, turquoise eyes growing wide. The axe was thrust deep into the trunk of the tree, mere inches from Calais' temple.

"Wh-what the...?"

The man with the bear pelt held a sword at his side. In a gruff voice he spoke, "Now, now. Be a good boy and die, you hear!?"

With that he swung the blade sideways. Calais shrieked and fell backward, slouching down as the sword swept overhead and landed with another thunk into the tree. His mind racing, the young man rolled to the side. Scrambling to his feet, he ran, adrenaline pumping him further and further into the center of the town. Surely someone there would help him.

A few more bounds and a thought hit Calais' mind as hard as that axe would have;

'My sword!'

That's right! He had a blade of his own! His family had given it to him before he'd left the desert. Drawing it from its sheath, the hilt felt awkward in his hand. Still, it made him feel less vulnerable. Picking up pace, he rounded the corner into the town square.

It appeared as though this village was marked. Bandits. The very same ones who terrorized his tribe at the border to Jehanna. They were here now, wreaking havoc. It appeared that no matter where Calais traveled to, they would be there. The town was not without hope, however. The boy quickly took note that a select few were mounting an offense. A large man in a scarlet cape was poised, weapon at the ready. Nearby, two women brandishing swords had seemingly just joined the fray. The fight had even taken to the sky it seemed, as a large shadow among the clouds caught his attention. A wyvern. Even a wyvern rider was here!

Suddenly, the situation didn't seem nearly as bleak. These people...these people were fighting back! And any enemy of the bandits was a friend of his!

It was then that Calais caught sight of the front lines. A lone girl, clad in white, was singlehandedly locked in a magic duel against an enemy caster.

A beautiful girl, from the looks of it.

The young man watched for a moment, spells of light and dark slinging at each other. Then, a bolt of cloudy, black something hit the girl in the torso. She was taken aback for a moment, before drawing her blade and advancing.

'Is this girl crazy!? She's gonna get killed!'

When Calais' mind had caught up with his body, he realized he was running. When he realized he was running, he stopped. At the edge of the front line he was trembling, his sword visibly shaking in his hand. What could he do? He didn't have any combat experience. If he were fooling anyone it was only himself. To go out there would be suicide, pretty girl or no pretty girl.

Heartbeat thump, thump, thumping in his ears, Calais dropped his blade. Instinctively, his hand went to his belt. Feeling the cool, smooth wood of the flute beneath his fingertips, the boy was brandishing it before he even knew what he was doing.

It just seemed...natural.

As he drew a deep breath into his lungs and put the flute to his lips, it instantly felt more familiar than that rigid sword. At that moment, the music started. A high-pitched, sweet tone that pierced through the clash of metal and roar of thunder. The honey tones gave way to a rousing melody with a quick, steady tempo. It was a song he'd learned from a soldier of Jehanna when his caravan had made a stop near the capital city.

The girl fought as the music played on and on. Calais hoped that the brave melody would reach her.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Harlaus Tyberry Character Portrait: Calais Character Portrait: Oskar Character Portrait: Lenore Character Portrait: Alysia Character Portrait: Katrina
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The only time Donovan had missed a target had been when his sister had jumped on his back and even then, the arrow left a nasty gouge. For his arrow to fly wide of the intended target, it would take something even the greatest magnitude of imaginations couldn't conjure. A sight so amazing it would normal men scream. It seemed one of the few things that met this criteria was the two great Wyvern’s tearing through the bandits.

The beasts scales shone with a scarlet tone as they cleaved through their opponents with ease as the riders sat high and mighty upon their backs. The boy rubbed his eyes to rid himself of the mirage but to no avail. These were two real, live, fire-breathing dragons, just like in his story book!

Recovering from the shock and awe, Donovan quickly began to search for his next victim. Several new people had joined the fray with them but there was no time to assess their skills. They would just have to fend for themselves and try not to get in the way of his arrows. Drawing his bow string back, he took aim, firing three arrows into the horde of bandits. Though they had seemed hopelessly outmatched before, their opponent’s numbers had dwindled and things were beginning to lean in their favor as each arrowhead buried itself in a skull.

Far in the distance, a lone rider had successfully slain two of the attackers but was quickly being approached by two more. It was hard to make out much detail in the girl’s face but even from here he could see she was quite beautiful.
“Distance...about forty meters. This is going to be close.” His bow let off a cacophonous twang as the arrow flew over the writhing mass of people fighting in the square. Even from on the balcony, the shouts of the men rang loud in his ears. The arrow had cut right through the back of both their knees and sent them collapsing to the ground in pain.

Turning back to the chaos below him, a detail he hadn't noticed now stuck out like a sore thumb.

“I had a hunch you weren't one of my men.” Donovan whirled around to see a sphere of dark energy fly towards him, smashing into his chest and launching him into the railing of the balcony. The sphere dissolved into the stone floor only to reappear in the man’s hand. A desperate dive for his bow was easily thwarted as the man kicked him in the stomach. His fingers just closed around the bowstring as he was hoisted off the floor and sent plummeting from the balcony into the slaughter below.