Jump to content



Approved Band Bio: Tamrissa - CC'd by a Wolfie


Recommended Posts

DM Handle - Harry Potter

Character Name - Tamrissa

Place of Birth - Unknown

Age - mid 20s (she thinks)

Gender - Of the female persuasion

Personality - Quiet and observant says very little, speaking only when spoken to or in the

company of people she knows well, and even then only when she has something to say. Her

childhood is a very distant memory so she does not remember that she was not always this way,

that circumstances changed her. Believing herself to be on the lesser side of bright Tamma often

double guesses herself, constantly questioning her own decisions, holding herself at a distance

from most people, giving the impression that she thinks herself above most. But Tamma is loyal

and dedicated and stubborn. Once her mind is set she will not change it, no matter what.

Appearance - (Physical) Tall for a woman, Tamma's 6'1" frame is hard to miss, even amongst

men, yet she does nothing to try and hide it. Coupled with long, wavy black hair and eyes the

colour of cool steel and high cheek bones she is not ignorant of her good looks. But there are scars

that she keeps concealed. Up and down her back and arms are thin red welts, crisscrossing each

other, making grotesque patterns in her flesh which she keeps covered and hidden at all times.

(Attire) A loose dark blouse with a wide black belt, leggings and well worn knee high boots. She

has a long wool lined green and brown coat for cold and wet weather.


Character History 


'Don't look back' she told herself once again, pulling the recently acquired, ill fitting

coat more tightly around her thin shoulders against the chill stiring of oncoming night in the air.

Again she didn't heed her own words; stopping, turning to look back down the wide darkening

valley to the.. empty farmhouse. The shiver running down her back strenghtens her determination

as a hoard of unknown emotions darken her grey eyes, the only outward sign of her inner doubt.

'It's not..' she muttered quietly, turning her eyes forward for the third time that day to the foothills

a half nights march ahead. Beyond that on all sides of her stretched a seemingly endless carpet

of an ancient forest, and beyond that the world. Her life was out there, she was sure of it, both

past and future. She did not belong here. There was no feeling in her heart for what was being

left behind in that house; she had taken only what she thought she would need; clothing, food,

water.. the large purse that had come from the same source as the coat.. a bag to carry it all in,

except for gold and silver coins that were now distributed around various parts of her clothing

and person and her knife and bow. Both of which she carried in either hand. She did not expect an

attack, believing the stories she was told to be exactly that; stories, nonetheless it did no harm to

be prepared.

Releasing a sigh, shaking her head she picked up her pace wanting to be up in those foothills by

nightfall. She was sure that it was the right move to take that staying here was not. No one would

come, of that she was sure too. No one ever came. No one would come looking for her. No one

even knew she existed because if they had they would have come looking for her. She was sure of

that too. Tilting her head up she judged she had at least six hours until dawn, and wondered how

she knew that. There were too many things she didn't know, too many, yet the things she couldn't

remember knowing but did... those things worried her more. Her thumb brushes over the bow in

her hands. 'It has to be mine' she mutteres, her mind bouncing arguments, theories and doubt back

and forth with itself, 'It has to be...'

Suddenly images assaulted her, flashing through her mind's eye so fast it made her stomach turn.

Vague moving pictures of a tall, dark man showing her how to string a bow; a woman scowling

while she pounded a pestle and mortar; sparring with a boy of equal height with knives and staves;

hunting over mountains and through forests; racing on horses and on feet; a fight; darkness; pain.

Stumbling she managed to catch herself before falling, her chest heaving, her cheeks wet, her

mind reeling with more questions than she had that morning. Lifting her head steely grey eyes

focused on the terrain ahead. Enough of this. It was time for her to leave.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

  • Create New...