From the Bunk:Edit
Status: DECEASED Nickname: Miss
Weapon: Rapier (Estoc, to be precise.)
Kaiea is a delicately proportioned vixen with petite paws and a narrow waist, of short stature for her kind. No scars adorn her muzzle nor paws; she is a beast obviously set in a softer part of society... or in knowing her way around the darker sides. Her fur is the color of raw honey and turns nearly white at her crown, fading to a color not unlike soot around her extremities- paws, muzzle, and ears. Her mane is long and well kept, falling in a short curtain over her clothing. When her eyes widen in surprise or anger, you will see the piercing grey of her eyes; like a storm on the horizon. Behind them you can sense the malice, anger, and sheer force of will lurking.
Her formal attire consists of a pink kimono, kept impeccably free of stains and wrinkles, decorated with visions of a far different land than Bully Harbor and its surroundings. For accents she wears a clip in the shape of a petite pink flower, jeweled, and a worn necklace with a scallop shell pendant. As for her normal attire she dons a long white shirt of cotton, covered by a boiled leather vest imprinted with scenes similar to her kimono. A pair of maroon pantaloons are tucked into a tall pair of leather boots, although they've seen more use than one would expect. Laid bare on her thigh is a wicked dagger with a hilt of bone, the craftsmanship of which can not be disputed.
Kaiea has never been a personable vixen. At face value she is polite yet cold, giving way to her superiors, but never swaying to those beneath her. She has never thought well of male beasts and will always help a woman in need.
Arriving at Bully Harbor as a stowaway with Vivian, she set out to make a new life for herself as a ship-beast. After her first tour, she bought herself a house in the Insanely Rich Area (with funds acquired who knows how)and no one heard much from the house thereafter. Within a few months and without much noise, the house was empty, the lawn fell into disrepair. Nearby, an older Castle lit up in the night, smoke rising from its chimney...
((The following is a snippet from the Author's original post. If you would like to see the entire post, read the Thoroughfare thread "Winter War: The Blockade"))
“Clearly you are unfit for your duties, Blademaster. You must be removed from your post.”
As the pair advanced, the Commander with his stained dagger and the Executioner with his cleaver, the half-circle of beasts withdrew, watching as the three of them danced a deadly circle around Vivian’s cooling body. Eventually, cornered, with nowhere left to run, she crouched over it, avoiding the notion of a downward glance.
The fight lasted three full minutes, a flurry of parries and half-strikes, trading small injury after another through armor and cloth. She had disabled the Commander’s left arm--his blade arm--and both of the Executioners’ legs, but her limbs and torso ached with the plethora of wounds she had taken, deep bloody gashes that only increased the speed of her descent. By the end she was crouched over her friend’s corpse, slipping in the pool she had left behind, lungs heaving and mane wild. As the Commander took her by the nape of the neck, she screamed in indignation, removing the digits of his right hand with a poorly aimed swipe. He neglected to make a sound, simply pressing her muzzle to the deck.
It was cold, slimy, and nauseating, and though her stomach had fallen out long ago, she felt it lurch one more time out of spite. As she struggled back, she noted their placement with a snarl; They’d placed her facing Vivian--was it a kindness, or cruelty?--to stare into her milky eyes and empty features. Memories flooded her; the scent of grass on a summer morning, dirt encrusted trousers, the fine mixture of blended herbs in Vivian’s signature tea, hot breath and warm tears.
The world became very still, and the sound drained from her ears. Beyond, the wind had stilled, the gulls ceased to crone, and the fighting fell into a lull. Then came a whisper, like a child’s breath upon her ear.
You are only just beginning in this end.
The cleaver fell and sent a shudder through her body. Pain, clear and sharp, cut through the noiselessness and shattered the world. Sensation came flooding back and she gasped desperately for a breath, only to choke on the thick arterial blood that had begun to fill her throat; the wound felt warm, but her body felt nothing but a cold numbness.
It was wrong. It should have been a quick strike, something to end her quickly, but they wouldn’t even offer her that grace--her preparations had meant nothing. Tears streamed freely from her eyes as the Executioner readied another strike, and she tried to speak, to scream, but could not through the bile and gore.
Nothing greeted her end but darkness, and the faint sound of a rolling carriage...
It took three strikes to kill Kaiea Malikus. When at last her head tumbled free of her shoulders, the remainder of the Verfolger squad departed with their package--one meant only for the Minister of Niceties. The empty remains of the Skeered were left as they were, beached, save for a few hundred pounds of new cargo. She burned to nothing but her ironsides in less than an hour, blackened bones left behind to break the rising tide.