Winter Mills

“This isn't my first rodeo, Mr. Stark.”
Name: Kraken
Age: 18
How'd you find us? Well... That's a long story.. Short answer? Google.
RP experience: 5 1/2 years

“Who are these people?”
Full Name: Winter Mills
Nicknames: Ice, Snow, Tasaria's Imposter, Dancing Fyre, Che and Frost
Alias: Vetr, Talv or Cheimónas (He-Mon-as)
Age: 539 years old
Sexuality: Pansexual
Race: White
Occupation: Trader / Traveller / Traitor
Class: Anti-Hero
Play-By: Emilia Clarke

“We have left humanity behind...”
Any special talents?

Talent : Swordsmanship. Winter is incredibly adept with a sword, having more than 500 years of experience in this area. You can imagine the lethality.
Con : Swords are close combat and anyone carrying a sword is doing so rather obviously. Unlike DeadPool, she cannot cut a bullet in half.

Talent : Pistols. Winter is a realistic gun woman. She can handle pistols, but that is about her limit. As her tendency is not towards large guns, she wouldn't have much experience towards that area.
Con : Winter will aim for the chest, not the head. Dodging is possible because of this, and Winter can very well simply miss the person entirely.

Talent : Dance and Song. Winter has always delighted in any new, fascinating dance or stirring song. As such, she is experienced in many steps from many different worlds. Her singing is experienced from time, and breathtaking to hear.
Con : While Winter may dance if an event calls for it, she no longer sings in the slightest. Though, if one is fortunate enough to hear it, she may hum softly while she occupies her mind elsewhere. This is typically more of a habit than a sign of pleasure, and she ceases the moment her thoughts return to the world around her. Additionally, Winter does not know every song or dance. On the contrary, there are MANY she's never heard of, she simply has a large collection of knowledge on this subject when comparing to others, who only know a dozen or so.

Talent : Imitation. Winter's species, as a biological trait, hold the ability to eerily imitate any growl with ease, to ward off enemies. Using this trait, Winter has trained her voice to mimic the voices of others, given a sample of their dialogue to start with.
Con : A sample dialogue is necessary. The voices of men are VERY challenging, Winter requires a larger sample, hours of additional practice, and even then, those close to the person Winter is trying to imitate will notice a subtle difference. Often, Winter refuses to even try this.

Talent : Sleight of Hand. Winter uses distraction and misdirection to divert attention from what she may be doing with her hands. Typically, this is used to hide the fact that she has just activated a device up her sleeve, removed a dagger, collected a pinch of powder from a pouch on her belt, and other such actions. Often, she will credit her skill in this area to her time as a false magician.
Con : Someone with a high level of expertise in distraction and misdirection likely will see through it.

Superpowers: Winter has no super powers, per say. She does have minor advantages over Humans, biologically speaking.

Ability : Speed / Agility. Winter's species are smaller and typically significantly thinner than humans, allowing a faster movement.
Con : Winter is lighter than a typical human. Predominately this trait becomes an annoyance in heavy combat if Winter is dealt a blow, or generally picked up.

Ability : Lack of Sleep. Winter's species are a brutal bunch, they're more than willing to slaughter any vulnerable creature among themselves, including their own kin. As such, sleep is incredibly dangerous. Winter's species have adapted to sleep once a week (approximately) When Winter rests, she appears dead to the general eye.
Con : When the week is up, it doesn't matter where she is, or what's going on, Winter will sleep. This is particularly tedious, as physically straining combat or stress can push Winter over the edge at the end of the week. Typically, Winter will make strong attempts to sleep BEFORE the week is over. Additionally, the sleep lasts for at least 24 hours, and it's only possible to wake Winter in the last two hours of the event.

Ability : Lack of Hunger. Like sleeping, Winter needs to eat quite a deal less often than humans. Typically, she will eat every few days, or wait as long as an entire week because her mind is elsewhere. Often, she will comedically point out that she doesn't understand how humans accomplish ANYTHING with so many interruptions.
Con : Winter is ravenous when she does eat. It's not a flattering sight.

Ability : Growl. Winter's species holds the ability to mimic gruesome snarls, growls, or roars. Taking the tone from notoriously vicious animals, and combining the collection of fear inspiring noises, Winter's species have crafted a single growl that informs the brain to bolt, no matter who it is. A strong will power will keep a certain person from bolting, they will, however, still feel the inclination to run as if Death is at their heels.
Con : It hurts. Winter will, at most, be able to use it twice every four months. Any more than that, and her voice will be severely injured and she will retch blood. Additionally, it sends EVERYTHING running, so it's not useful for finding one person out of a crowd.

Other Abilities:

Other : Technology Mastery. Winter crafts many pocket sized devices to wear on her person in order to complete certain actions or give herself a hidden advantage.
Con : Winter is not McGuyver. She can't build something out of tooth picks and dirt. She requires actually technologically based material (often specific kinds) in order to build something. Additionally, Winter cannot build anything instantaneously, it takes days, weeks or months to complete, upgrade or repair a device. Devices will glitch, break, backfire, or not work at all. The device working is never a guarantee, and it's a joke of mine to have at least one malfunction at the worst possible moment.

Other : Deception. Winter has relied on lying and deceiving to survive for a VERY long time. And well, old habits die hard.
Con : Winter is not immune to being lied to or tricked herself. Additionally, it would be easier for others to know she is lying if they are experienced themselves in the area and older than her (therefore more experienced and practiced)

Anything else we should know? Winter's species are called YymDwellers. Their planet of origin is called Yym. Winter is additionally extremely skilled with combat with a staff as well as a bow and arrow.

“That's my secret, Cap. I'm always angry.”
Personality: Winter is a rather complicated woman, with both flattering and frustrating sides to her personality. She's a self admitted loud mouth with a tendency to speak before she thinks. Unsurprisingly, this has led her into many, many adventures stemming from the wrong words said at the wrong time.

Winter is an easy going woman, who desires adventure, action, humour and a general laugh from her companions. That being said, Winter often has trouble connecting emotionally to others, particularly when it'll bring more trouble than they're worth. Children, however, generally skip past such defenses, as much as Winter denies this. Stated simply, Winter has a soft spot for children. Every time. People, however, can find a pleasant company with Winter, even without an emotional attachment. Emotions? Well, they take time.

It's important to note that Winter is not loyal in our sense of the word. She will only join a battle or war if she knows she will make a difference. She will never be loyal to those who directly or indirectly support her cause through obligation alone. And she refuses to fulfill any perceived debt she does not agree is due.

Winter's smart mouth and quick sense of humor can lift any foul mood with ease. Typically, her easy going demeanor is merely the surface. Beneath, Winter is a sarcastic and suspicious woman who will do anything, ANYTHING to save those she loves. Winter can prove to be a cold hearted murderer, when provoked or prodded past her limit. She will kill for the sake of saving herself, but she has never betrayed those who care deeply for herself, or the other way around. As much as she's been entitled a traitor, by nature, she's not a HEARTLESS one.

Often feeling as though her opinions and ideas are rejected by those who don't need her style of tactics to survive, Winter will defend her actions and mind set aggressively if asked. Many times in the past, people have enlisted and praised Winter's schemes and plans, but the moment it fails to suit them, she is written off as a trouble maker. Unsurprisingly, this has summoned a general mistrust of people and their natures within Winter. Additionally, Winter finds herself often solitary, not quite fitting in anywhere, and with her immortality requiring a body switch every few years, she doesn't have a home. As such, Winter often connects with the lonely or outcasted, and will side with the unpopular opinion.

Summed up, Winter is a complex, mysterious woman who enjoys good company, a laugh, and perhaps a bit of adventure.

A LOT of adventure, actually.


“Cause I'm with you to the end of the line.”
Family: Atashi - Mother - Deceased
Kaei - Father - Deceased

Tyle - First Husband - Deceased
Tahras - Second Husband - Lost

Kyr - Adoptive Eldest Son - Deceased
Ruhkin - Adoptive Son - Deceased
Xium - Adoptive Son - Deceased
Zeun - Adoptive Son - Deceased
Dinun - Adoptive Son - Deceased
Ballium - Adoptive Son - Deceased
Archen - Youngest Adoptive Son - Deceased

Pan Foniás / Pan Dótis - Daughter - Lost

San - Still Born

History: Winter was first born to an unimportant man and his unimportant wife. Each clad, of course, with unimportant names.

At the time of her birth on the distant trading planet Yire, Winter has been named Yaeir, after a constellation that wandered through the night sky. Equipped with an uninteresting life laid before her, as is due for all traders of Yire, Yaeir took her mondain fate with eager hands.

Before the young age of 20, Yaeir had made her fortune as a trader of spices, bath oils and medical herbs, and her beauty struck many men to stumble through the streets as if drunken at the mere thought of it. Clad with darkened hair, soft red eyes, honest frame and a cunning mind, Yaeir summoned the attention of many far off men.

But she claimed only one.

His name was Tyle, the restless Prince of some distant land upon Yire. The story went that upon his father's death, Tyle ran without hesitation, fearing the crown that was destined for himself, or rather, the responsibility and the bindings it brought. Taking a ship and a crew upon it, Tyle left the crown to his younger brother, and wandered where he pleased. Or, so he had planned. The problem was, of course, that lacking the funds and knowledge required, the loyalty of his men waned, and he soon found himself with only his shoes to his name.

As time wore on, his pale and pampered flesh became hard and tanned. His hands became skilled and calloused. Even his manner abruptly spun upon its heel as he began to mourn the loss of his father, consider the foolishness of his youth, and the bleak world before him that his mistakes had summoned. Eventually, his search for steady work brought him to captain the ships of a rival spice trader of Yaeir.

He had supposed the pay was well enough, so long as his wages provided for only himself. It would be simpler that way. Besides, he would have no concerns of the past coming to another's knowledge, no responsibility (he still cowered from the idea) and an easy, straight forward life.

And with that thought running through his mind, Tyle turned his back to his ship's deck, and meet eyes with Yaeir.

So much for that idea.

To say their love went flawlessly would be a blatant lie. Tyle lacked a certain subtly and Yaeir lacked patience. They did however, fall in love. The way most people do, tumbling and slipping all the way.

Years passed and the two married. But that's where the pretty little fairy tale ended. Yaeir bore no children in five years, but not for a lack of desire or effort. The day finally came when Yaeir's stomach grew in size, much to the delight of the pair. A child. A child of their very own was growing, was thriving.

There was an accident. A simple slip of the foot upon the Tyles ship.

The child was born still, with a bruised skull and closed hands.

Dead.

The world darkened miserably as Yaeir departed into her locked room, drew shut the windows, and blew out the candles.



The new king upon the other side of Yire proved to be a corrupt and short tempered man as the years passed. He was so cruel in punishment, crimes and taxes that no rebellion was ever considered, simply because everyone assumed it was already in motion. Hearing far travelled rumours of his brother's activities, Tyle took to the sea to reclaim his birth right. He would aim to succeed where his foolish, short sighted brother had failed and if anyone argued for his brother's claim (which he truly doubted anyone but his brother and the most corrupt would) a rebellion would sprout from the people, whether Tyle led it himself or not.

Yaeir would have pointed out that Tyle's sudden grasp of a desire for power was out of character and rash, had she not blamed his ship in part for the accident.

And Tyle would have argued that the people demanded either a new leader, or his brother's head, had he not blamed Yaeir for the still born.

And so, the pair parted ways in silence.

Tyle's return to his home across the raging sea took three months time, during which the king prepared for his brother with Regret's Touch. A tasteless, colorless and scentless poison that dissolves within any liquid in half a second. Tyle could hardly be blamed for not noticing the poison until blood dripped from his mouth, and the wine's goblet clattered upon the polished floor.

Unsurprisingly, the obvious murder of the new ruler and his policies struck the opressed people into a raging fury. A raging fury that of course, craved blood. To say that an organized rebellion took place would be, once more, a blatant lie. Instead, heads rolled, blood spilled and innocents died. In truth, the revolution was going no where. It lacked leadership, restraint and organization.

Yaeir provided it.

Vengeful to the king, Yaeir called in favors she had earned through her countless years of trading and sold every item to her name, collecting an army of ships and filling them with furious, blood thirsty men. Travelling across the endless waters, Yaeir soon found armies and ships roaring into creation in her wake.

It provided Yaeir with even more power.

But even less satisfaction.

Her thirst for vengeance seemed insatable, even tearing the king's head off herself proved to be no comfort to her raging grief.

Though it did coax a smile from her drawn lips. Something the world had not achieved in the many years since the still birth.


She supposed that she could make a habit of it, killing kings.

Considering this thought, Yaeir turned her back to the rebels and their cause, and disappeared into the inviting dark.

As it turned out, a man named One-Hand-Wiilt took the throne. And though he was a regal, formal man, his name looked terrible on parchment.

Yaeir became a ghost story as the years went on. To the people under One-Hand-Wiilt, fortune was her fault as much as bad fortune was. Traveling merchants swore they had seen her briefly upon their travels, taking a fine interest in their wares (which were on sale, you know) while drunkards swore that they had stolen a kiss in their 'charming' stupor. Her story became bruised and distorted with time, until only the wildest of tales remained. Which, of course, contained only the most wildest of ideas.

In truth, contrary to the stories, Yaeir didn't bless fortune, nor take it away. She took no interest in the wares of merchants, nor in the kisses of drunks. And she most certainly was not a 'fire breathing, shape shifting dragon'. Instead, she settled in the shadows of known myth and legend, searching ceaselessly for a cure to death itself for her husband.

As many before her had previously discovered, there was none.

Yaeir died at the age of 40 at the hands of the king's guard of the distant city of Guaim after she tore their king's skull apart after infiltrating the castle with arms and armies alone. As grateful as the people were to see their oppressor deceased, they quickly settled to hate the woman who died with a maniac grin and bloody eyes. Because, of course, the next ruler was twice as cruel.

Not that she minded, being dead and all.



The thing is, she woke up.

Centuries later, a museum upon a distant planet took an interest in Yaeir's tale, having misread the stories of the past. Interactive Displays was what they aimed for. Their trademark. 'We implant to history, personality and facts of each person from your history books, and put them into a simulation. See history come back to life!'

There were, of close, unmentioned safety precautions. Simulations didn't leave the museum, they'd deactivate if they left the premises. Simulations could not physically interact with people. Simulations could not interact with simulations.. it was all very thorough and dull...

But it worked.

Until they attempted to simulate Yaeir, that is.

The first thing she did after their pretty little orientation explaining the predicament, was investigate how she had died, as her memory on that subject was.. Faulty. According to the ornate index card provided on a pedestal, she had been betrayed. Someone she had trusted into her company had slunk off, warning the king and his guard of Yaeir. Supposedly, the man was to be rewarded generously for his efforts by the king. Such a shame the king hadn't kept his head.

Truly.

The problem was, the muesum had their facts wrong, and Yaeir knew it. Sure, she felt as if she had been betrayed by a man she couldn't recall. Felt it coded into her soul (if she had one). But, alternatively, the same force of knowledge knew the truth. That the museum had screwed up. And she could use it to her advantage.

Every inconsistency between the truth and the given misconception doubled the wiggle room within the simulation's mind and cognitive thought.

They claimed she led countless rebellions for the good of the people.

They claimed she had two sons.

They claimed the people adored her.

They claimed her the 'Rebellion Bringer'

They claimed her good. Pure.

Through these lies, Yaeir broke free of the simulation's bindings in thought, though no one could tell. Once more she was herself. Not the pretty little thing the museum had imagined her to be through mistold stories and one sided tales. Yaeir waited, bided her time, and observed the new world around her. This one, she realized, enjoyed technology.

She would learn to manipulate this.. Technology, of theirs. Who knew? It could be useful, she figured.

In time, Yaeir became a hidden expert in the field, and discovered a method to cure death itself. She recorded her past, her present, her memories, deeds and personality over the flawed template the muesum had once used to create her. Creating her, in data points. Now all it needed was a real body. Once that could touch, interact, run.. Play.

Yaeir placed the data points inside a machine disguised as a pocket watch. It would imprint 'herself' onto whoever was closest when her body died. So long as she kept it within her reach and in a populated place, granted.

But, for its faults, it was a cure for death. Because suddenly, there was nothing Yaeir feared more in the world.

After all.. Her place in death was already taken by the original Yaeir.

With that thought, Yaeir discarded her simulation entirely, shutting off power within the entire facility to do so. While the staff staggered about in the dark, the watch activated, and Yaeir stole her first host with a charming smile.



Centuries passed, filed with the misadventures of Yaeir, or rather, her imposter with the constantly changing name.

One of which included a mock magician who placed powder and lights within plain crystal balls in order to fascinate and perplex those with a fat wallet. All of course, to see if it would work. Well, that, and to travel discreetly anywhere she minded.

Another time included accidentally spilling a certain poisonous gas that she had been experimenting with at the time. Unfortunately, after it was airborne, there was no cure or stopping the gruesome disease. The only symptom before it was deadly? Unexplained laughter.

A King 's concubine once came to Yaeir, clutching a babe in her arms, insisting Yaeir take the child before the vengeful and jealous queen harm the small boy. Yaeir agreed, taking the dark haired infant and departing. Only to find six other women carrying variously aged sons, tripping over themselves to request the same. Reluctantly, Yaeir set about raising seven sons.

Her conclusion? It was tiring, gruelling work. The moment one was behaving himself, three others were trying to burn the building down. But, she never considered removing them from her care, not once. She liked sons.

And they adored her.

Soon, some political movement or another summoned attention to dark haired boys, and they were, if deemed under a certain age, slaughtered in the streets. Yeair knew she was simply one woman, she could not suceed physically where thousands of previous mothers had failed in protecting their sons, and so she changed tactics.

She became a goddess.

Or, rather, an imposter of a goddess. The people riot against kings, queens, leaders, hell, even the ground or air, if given half the chance. But gods? They obeyed.

And so Yaeir dressed the part of the eccentric goddess of dance and song, Fyre. Under the guise, Yaeir denounced the slaughter of children, and stirred the already restless people into a blaze of rage. They rioted and rebellion against their rulers bearing every weapon within reach. It would be easy, they said, those pampered nobles haven't fought so much as a dog in decades. Won't last until lunch.

Yaeir's seven sons, being old enough to know they should be men, insisted they join the cause.

They died.

Yaeir turned her back to the rebellion, and left the rebels to their bloody fates.

She didn't care anymore.

As Yaeir aged, she took new names, lost interest in killing kings, and instead craved only fun, something, anything, to distract her broken mind, and so her adventures become more dangerous and odd. There was a time in which she promised a demon her hand, if it were to slay her enemies. After the demon agreed, and played his part, Yaeir cheerfully chopped off her left hand, tossed it to him, remarked that she needed a new body any way, and departed. Furious, the demon cursed her with white hair,no matter her body, so she could no longer escape anyone's hunt, or notice. Dyes would not hide it, magic could never cure it and wigs could never cover it.

It was truly an inconvenience.

With time, societies came to distrust unnatural shades of hair, particularly a young woman with white hair. Which, of course, led to scrutiny, which led to Yaeir actually getting caught in the oddest of crimes, unable to provide a reasonable explanation.

People didn't want to believe that she wasn't stealing their goats, she was just trying to learn to imitate them to lure a dragon from the nearby cliffs. She hadn't had a good fight in a while.

And the idea she that didn't tie a man upside down from a tree outside a bears cave for a good reason never occurred to anyone. No, they insisted her evil. Even if it was at the man's insistence. (The bear, you see, he thought was the reincarnation of his wife. Reeking of alcohol as he was, they had to tempt the beast out with easy prey)

Certainly, the idea that Yaeir really, really didn't have anything to do with ships suddenly sinking every time the water touched them, was far too fanciful. (She did have a bit too do with it, but she had no idea they'd sink so fast..)

And so, time after time, Yaeir found herself running from guards and mobs, rotting in a cell, or terrorizing the people who put her there. It was a fun game (she'd come to enjoy those) consisting mainly of three parts. The first part, was easy. Get locked up. When the cell shut, Yaeir, a few hours later, would sing the most beautiful melody, simply to prove she could. This, would annoy the guards.

The next day, Yaeir screeched as a tone deaf banshee upon the very same tunes, allowing the guards and prisoners no rest. This, would drive them mad, slowly.

Part three? Consisted primarily of waiting for lack of sleep and anger to bring an opportunity to her feet.



Years blurred into lifetimes, and soon, Yaeir found herself driven mad by loneliness through her travels.

She wasn't mad for long, however, before a discarded sword began to speak with her.

His name was Rynsam, he proclaimed. He was cursed into the form of a sword, and he had truly no idea why she could hear him.

Yaeir knew he was a liar. Knew that her mind had cracked.

But the delusion was so... delicious, she couldn't bring herself to break it. Until time went on, and she forgot it was a delusion, forgot it was a lie. She simply knew Rynsam spoke with her.




Our story TRULY starts with the events set in motion through the mind of a conquerer. Or rather, the deranged mind of a conquerer and the sin of the conquered.

The planet Yym has been conquered, claimed and generally invaded more times than its inhabitants could begin to count. Or anyone else, for that matter. The reason for this constant series of invasion is highly disputed. A few claim the strategic position of the planet is to blame, while others insist the wild nature of the inhabitants craft the perfect army.

The Atashi, maddened with the false promise of immortality a false prophet swore would be hers if she could claim Yym for herself, cunningly promised the conquered people of Yym liberation and power if they were to over throw the monarchs that commanded the wild planet.

The rebellion was flawless.

The Atashi's leadership abilities, however, were not.

Yaeir, at this age, she had gone by many names, Talv being one of them, was an unwilling observant to the events of the world. She had come, previously, to sate Rynsam's craving for Uech. An herb that only grows upon Yym.

Unfortunately, the rebellion under The Atashi frightened the nearby planets enough that they barricaded Yym entirely.

Nothing in, nothing out.

During this time, Yym turned on itself in hunger and quarantined madness. The strong killed the weak, as it always has, but suddenly the weak included the children, women and teenage men of Yym. The weak did not fall without a fight. Instead, they turned their biological traits designed for battle and war, onto one another.

Men used their brute strength, women and children used tricks.

Kaei, a very clever man who found himself trapped upon Yym, like Yaeir, sought to end the madness. Namely, by removing Atashi from power. Which, he figured, would convince the neighboring worlds to lift the quarantine.

All he had to do, was lower the Atashi's guard.

And so he did, by stealing her heart.

The thing is, he got caught. The Atashi killed him in cold blood.

After he'd impregnated the woman, that is.

Now, Yaeir, mind you, got into quite a fair bit of trouble while all this was transpiring. Which led to an exciting and daring escape from a mob of hungry Yym Dwellers. Which, in turn, led to a risky leap from a cliff and into the raging current below.

The water below was no problem, Yaeir could swim.

The sharp rocks her head was repeatedly smashed into, however, proved to be an issue.

Drowning, Yaeir realized, was agonizing. She would forever avoid water. And ships. Ugggh... Ships....

Yaeir's watch broke the moment it touched the water, desperately, the device threw Yaeir's data in every direction, aiming for a host, any host.

The data imprinted into Atashi and Kaei's unborn child, a fair portion of it, needless to say, became glitched and corrupted. Besides, the mind of a babe is such a forgetful, tiny place.

And so Yaeir forgot who she was, who she had been, and what her many lives had led to.

The Atashi named her Niyaki, a word meaning 'Odd Thing', and not in the charming, endearing way. Unsurprisingly, she proved to be a better leader than a mother, and it often escaped her notice entirely that she did in fact, HAVE a daughter.

Niyaki, as she grew to the age of three, discovered that she ADORED climbing, and though her palms soon grew scarred from sudden, desperate catches from terrifying slips from the various cliff faces she scaled, it was her general consensus that nothing could beat the view.

Niyaki grew to be strong, independent, and very, VERY unlucky. Her streak of unfortunate chance led her staggering in and out of miscellaneous, terrifyingly exciting adventures endlessly.

At the end of one such mentioned adventures, Niyaki returned home to find The Atashi blind with madness and delusions. The Atashis fragile mind had finally snapped, and she craved nothing more than to be rid of Niyaki, an act her delusions had informed her would provide everlasting life. When poison didn't work, (Niyaki had the fortunate, yet remarkably brief luck to drop the dosed treat into a Black Pond on accident) the Atashi planned an attack with less tactic. She'd shove Niyaki from the cliff upon their hut was balanced, and to the rocky pit far below.

It would have worked, if Niyaki hadn't clutched onto the arm of her mother at the last moment in a desperate reflex.

But she did, and so they fell together.

But only Niyaki's scarred hands found a solid hold within the cliff face she scaled so often.
“Dance-off, bro. Me and you.”
Custom Title The Legend Theif
RP Sample. Must be In Character.