Elizabeth Sorrow
*kick* *kick* *kick* "Your tenacity intrigues me." *kick* "Come on, get up." *kick*
5'9" 120 lbs without her armor on. Long lustrous flowing black hair—tends to flare up when she gets serious, giving her the look of an insane woman. Dark brown eyes. Razor-sharp (literally) nails. Particularly muscular, yet surprisingly light on her feet. At any given time she can be spotted wearing her armor, which consists of: a pair of porcelain-white zip-up heeled boots that come up to her knees, a matching pallid carbon-nanofiber dress, and a large plain leather overcoat—also white. These armaments afford her a level of resistance against the elements, namely heat, electricity (her overcoat is acts as an insulator), and bullets (carbon nano-fiber, tougher than Kevlar).
Age: 26
Gender: Female
Sexuality: "Whatever."
Nationality: "..."
Affiliation: Upper class. Her family was filthy stinking rich.
Occupation: She works at a local mini-mart. She doesn't need the money, she just needs something to do when not fighting.
Personality
*kick* *kick* *kick* "Your tenacity intrigues me." *kick* "Come on, get up." *kick*
5'9" 120 lbs without her armor on. Long lustrous flowing black hair—tends to flare up when she gets serious, giving her the look of an insane woman. Dark brown eyes. Razor-sharp (literally) nails. Particularly muscular, yet surprisingly light on her feet. At any given time she can be spotted wearing her armor, which consists of: a pair of porcelain-white zip-up heeled boots that come up to her knees, a matching pallid carbon-nanofiber dress, and a large plain leather overcoat—also white. These armaments afford her a level of resistance against the elements, namely heat, electricity (her overcoat is acts as an insulator), and bullets (carbon nano-fiber, tougher than Kevlar).
Age: 26
Gender: Female
Sexuality: "Whatever."
Nationality: "..."
Affiliation: Upper class. Her family was filthy stinking rich.
Occupation: She works at a local mini-mart. She doesn't need the money, she just needs something to do when not fighting.
Personality
"You may call me Sorrow."
Elizabeth has issues—well, mainly one: she's not quite sane. When you first meet her, you might be tempted to hold a door for her. To shake her hand. She seems like a nice person. Always a cool demeanor, always nice words, though she never smiles. She'll even have casual conversation with you. The birds. The weather. The latest fight. All the while, brimming under the surface is something else entirely. A force of pure unadulterated rage. Seething blistering hate. A need for violence. To see blood. To break bones. As the calm demeanor cracks and holes form in the facade, her true self is exposed.
This is Sorrow.
Outside of battle, she's a respectable member of society—usually. She holds down a job at a local mini-mart, pays her bills on time, and says good morning to her neighbors. She goes to college, sits through her classes, and advances through life—mostly without incident, though she tends to be a loner. It's when she gets on the battlefield, putting her soul and her life on the line for a fight, doing battle against a worthy foe, that she changes.
Her most striking feature while fighting is her eyes. One can see determination and ruthlessness there, true, but one can also notice a child-like jubilation. At times, even when receiving blows, she doesn't seem to rebound in terror or pain but to fall in towards the attack, as if she were enjoying it! The honest truth is: she loves to fight. To bet her soul. To win. She considers it her only purpose in life. This drive has allowed her to survive the games for long enough to be considered a Veteran. Don't let her polite demeanor fool you, or you might end up dead. Of course, if she thinks that you're not a worthy opponent, she won't even accept your challenge and will only fight you if forced to, or if you piss her off. She does not like to participate in easy little skirmishes—she is not in need of an ego boost, nor does she have anything to prove.
As a Veteran, she has been required to work with others on teams many a time, though she often acts as a lone wolf, attempting to take out the enemy her own way—usually in a surreptitious or unexpected manner, and often times from behind. Receiving a chance to stab her enemy in the back is like winning the lottery for her. She loves it.
That being said, she is not an illogical person. If the odds are stacked against her and working closely with her teammates is her only option, she'll augment her fighting style accordingly.
One thing she does enjoy that is sort of out of character is flipping her hair without using her hands. If she can get away with it, she'll do it in the middle of a fight. Similarly, she doesn't fight prepubescent children unless they really piss her off; in fact, she may actually actively attempt to rescue them from hostile or dangerous situations if it isn't too far out of her way to do so. She thinks of little kids as "cute".
She is also deadly afraid of spiders, but nobody knows that!
Soul & Abilities
Similar to her fellow Veterans, there are many rumors swirling around the name "Sorrow". Even among Veterans, there are very few that have actually seen her use her Soul Form in a fight. Some believe she doesn't even have a soul. Others believe that she is always wearing her soul, constantly invoking her power.
Though not much is generally known about her Soul Form, her fighting style has been witnessed quite often. Those few that are lucky enough to have survived her onslaught believe her to one of if not the most fearsome woman in existence. Her main form of attack is with her hands—more specifically, her nails. She files them down so that they are razor sharp, utilizing them like claws. Depending on the opponent, she may even tip her finger with poison, just to make things more interesting. The truly devastating component to Sorrow is not her claws, however; it is her mindbogglingly swift and succinct methods of attack, usually small balance-breaking kicks combined with various grapples, coupled with her propensity for above-ground vertical wrestling and submission-style techniques.
If you get too close or too cocky, she'll flip you. She'll bring you up. She'll smash you straight back down.
If you fly at her unprepared—Soul Form or no Soul Form—she'll break you. She enjoys breaking bones almost as much as she enjoys seeing blood. It is for this reason that she tends to stab at her opponent's neck and face, hoping to witness as much red as possible. Even other Veterans respect her raw technique. Those that underestimate her because she isn't in Soul Form tend to die. Horribly, messily, and all over the place.
Her prowess in melee combat is not due to some textbook mastery of the martial arts through your typical training in some dojo or what have you. As a self-taught mixed martial artist, she became a genius fighter through perseverance in the arena alone. Very early on in her career as a Soul Killer, when she was still new to the whole "Soul Form" process and had next to no skill as a fighter, she would always bet every last point she had on her every match—a practice she ceased after her initial fights. She considered putting everything on the line to be a way to push herself—to make sure defeat was not an option. Constantly she fought against enemies that were slightly outside of her skill range. Constantly, through skill, determination, or just sheer desperation, she would find a way to overcome, learning from and adapting her own fighting style to that of her opponents. Eventually, after buying her freedom, she only accepted challenges from those Soul Killers whom she considered better than her, or at least a worthy challenge—inspiring her to hone her skills even further. During this period, she learned about as much from her rare defeats as she did from her numerous victories, all of which gave rise to the formation of a reputation around the community about the rumored "most fearsome woman".
Hence, she is exceptionally gifted when it comes to bare hand combat against the Soul Forms of Soul Killers in particular, as she has had a vast amount of experience in breaking them during her climb to the rank of Veteran.
Soul Form
(might be revealed later, if she ever has need of it)
(might be revealed later, if she ever has need of it)
Backstory
Sorrow cannot remember life before the games. She doesn't remember her parents—though she does remember killing them and inheriting their fortune. She doesn't remember when she started fighting, though she knows she's been fighting for a very long time. She doesn't even remember the face of the last person she snatched all of the soul points from—she does that type of thing all too often.
The only thing she remembers are the faces of her fellow Veterans, the fights that were hard fought, and the few fights that she lost.
Oh, and she remembers those times where she ended her opponents in spectacular ways. She often dreams of past battles, flipping opponents over her back and breaking their resolve with her cold bare hands. She particularly enjoyed breaking the opponents who considered (past tense) themselves such "superior" fighters. Ah, good times. Good times.
Theme Song
Woodkid - Iron
...
A soldier on my own, I don't know the way
I'm riding up the heights of shame
I'm waiting for the call, the hand on the chest
I'm ready for the fight, and fate
The sound of iron shocks is stuck in my head,
The thunder of the drums dictates
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead's
The rising of the horns, ahead
From the dawn of time to the end of days
I will have to run, away
I want to feel the pain and the bitter taste
Of the blood on my lips, again
This deadly burst of snow is burning my hands,
I'm frozen to the bones, I am
A million mile from home, I'm walking away
I can't remind your eyes, your face
...
A soldier on my own, I don't know the way
I'm riding up the heights of shame
I'm waiting for the call, the hand on the chest
I'm ready for the fight, and fate
The sound of iron shocks is stuck in my head,
The thunder of the drums dictates
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead's
The rising of the horns, ahead
From the dawn of time to the end of days
I will have to run, away
I want to feel the pain and the bitter taste
Of the blood on my lips, again
This deadly burst of snow is burning my hands,
I'm frozen to the bones, I am
A million mile from home, I'm walking away
I can't remind your eyes, your face