Name: Frey
Sex: Female
Age: 14

Physical Description: Small and angry. Frey has worn, chiseled features. She wears a hard stare at almost any given moment, accentuated by her thick brows. Though it's not easy to tell under her layers, her physique is quite well toned even for a Rockian.
Clothing: A small, tattered cape and full leggings with boots to ward off the biting sands. She has made it a habit to fake all kinds of debilitating injuries so that her enemies would underestimate her - currently, she wears bandages over her perfectly functional eye and a loose sling on her right arm.
Height: 4’11”
Weight: 97
Skin Colour: Tan
Hair Colour: Black
Eye Colour: Brown

Home Town: Raioh
Occupation: Scavenger
Culture: Naraat/Nomad
History/Bio: Born to a family of highly renowned metallurgists, from the day she was born she was destined to be nothing but trouble. For the longest time, she cried every single day for almost hours at a time - from getting sand into her eyes, being fed food she hated, or for no reason at all. And even at her young age, she had one hell of a temper. She wasn't afraid to knock things over or pummel the nearest person during her infamous tantrums and she was quick to snap at her caretakers like an ungrateful little brat. But even so, her parents loved her. After all, they had spent more than a decade of toil praying day after day that the powers above would bless them with the child they wished for.

Maybe she was treated with a bit more care than others her age, but that wasn't to say she was spoiled rotten. Rather, as some of their fellow clansmen speculated, there simply seemed to be something wrong with her. But her parents simply laughed off their attempts to advise them, assured that the unusual feistiness of their child only meant she was that much more unique. At the age of seven, Frey killed her mother.

It wasn't on purpose.

An outburst at the forge. An explosion of shrapnel. She could scarcely understand what had happened, but to everyone around her, what had unfolded was clear. Her latent phoenix powers which had laid dormant suddenly manifested within her - during her hysterics, she had inadvertently caused a weapon on the rifle rack to remotely explode, and the resulting fragmentation tore through her mother's body like a grenade. Something must have changed inside her then, but she didn't know what.

Her father continued to hold custody of her, but after a year, he reached his mental breaking point. Clearly Frey hadn't changed at all. And as her temper flared time and time again, he began to fear for his life. Even so, he loved her.

Then, there was the second incident. His daughter lashed out at him with a knife, cutting open his forearm. It was an argument over something petty, as it often was. He couldn't take it anymore - at the next clan meeting, they came to a unanimous decision: At age nine, Frey would be cast out from the Floe.

She wandered the desert alone, due south with little more than a knife and a few days worth of provisions. Finally, she understood.

In her months of solitude trekking the desert, she reflected on her own weakness and the harshness of the world around her - and the difficulty of surviving alone. With what little contact she made with other human beings, she finally learned respect. Years later, she would find a new settlement to call family in the Great Wastes.

At age twelve, her village was attacked by warriors from her hometown. They had set a course southward to raid outer territories and make off with precious resources. For the first time in her life, she experienced true loss as friends and family alike fought and died alongside her. Her fury was no longer shapeless and indiscriminate - she watched with an unmistakable cowl of rage as the raiders left their village in shambles as they made off with their quarry. Among their winnings was a delicately engraved blade gifted to her by her now late guardian - her last memento of their time together.

From there, she had two paths to follow. Take back what they stole... or, forget these desolate wastes altogether and look to the skies. As she became aware of space faring vessels present on the Rock, she knew there must be greater worlds than these. Though her itch for vengeance burrowed deep, she was determined. There was no way she was going to die on this fucking rock.

Equipment and Weapons: Knives, anything she can get her hands on.
Styles, Powers, and Abilities: Frey is proficient with just about any weapon commonly found on the Rock, though to be honest she's actually a better fighter with just her fists. Like her old kin, she developed phoenix powers over metal - however, she has found that she is unable to control it remotely, there must be some form of contact. That is to say, no matter how hard she tried, she could not replicate the shrapnel explosion that marked her birth as a phoenix seven years ago. What she lacks in firepower she makes up for in slyness and trickery, typically making good use of all manner of traps.