Legends of Belariath
WhiteMist
An accident she was told, a birth by pure chance. Her father a harsh, devious soul that enslaved her mother. A thief right to his blackened soul, a brutal beast for sure. Her mother a broken slip of a kitten meekly submitting to his every comand. Two complete opposites combined to bring forth a child called WhiteMist.
Cleod was obbessed with riches, he would use anyone, anyhow if it would lead to him filling his purse. And he did just that, forcing Atlissa to be his pawn. The family of three traveled from town to town, stalking out marks to releive them of thier coin. The ploy was simple, Atlissa would enter into the local taverns, find a rich target, lure them out or back to their place, seduce them with her beauty, leading them on or taking them as lovers. She releived them of their purses as they slept, either from exhasustion or spell. Cleod would spend his time stalking about the town, robbing various businesses, stelaing supplies or whatever caught his fancy. Their stays in these towns never lasted long, Cleod making sure he was never spoted, only moving about the shadows of the towns during the night. Each night he would send Atlissa back out to pickpockets and steal what she could. Every dawn they would meet back up, he would take her ill gotten gains, she would silently pray it would be enough for him. By a weeks end, he his greedy lust would be overpowered by his visious jealousy. His seething rage would fall upon her, beating her as he berated her as a whore, a slut, who enjoyed the strangers touch over the well being of her family. It was the ultimate insult for Atlissa, for she loved the one thing Cleod had ever given her, her precious daughter.
And so this was life, the norm or so she thought, never questioning her father's rule. Drug from town to town, stealing right by his side, learning her craft from a mad man. He father's ventures grew more daring, sending her mother out to entrap better prey to get a bigger payoff. Atlissa, growing weary of their game, choose a mark one night that was not to be so easily tricked. She selected her target, leading him to a back alley, a sign to Cleod that he would be assisting with the mark. The man was as large as Cleod, just a mean by the look on his face. He was savage as he attacked Atlissa, her attempted pickpocket caught. He started to beat her, throwing her to the ground. He kicked her in the stomach and then fell ontop of her. Cleod and WhiteMist watched, she in horror, he in twisted glee. The man rips the cloths from Atlissa, raping her like a rabid beast. WhiteMist moved to rush to her aid, only to be held back by her father, his deep growl whispering into her ear as his nails dug into her arm. “You will watch girl what happens to whores that get caught. Learn well or it will be you under that man next time.” WhiteMist watched in fasinated silence as her father left her mother to her fate, a kindeling of hate starting to grow. The man moves off, spitting on the crumbled form of Atlissa as he draws his pants back up, leaving her in the dirt of the alley. Once her father's hand released her she rushed to her mothers side, her face was swollen and bloodied. She looks back to her father just as the back of his hand struck her face, knocking her away from her mother. “Leave that whoring slut. She can be a treat for whoever finds her this night.” He grabs his daughter by the hair and drags her back to their hidout. Atlissa never returned at dawn, WhiteMist hearing rumors of how the catwoman was found by a drunken group and used until death finally eased her suffering. This of course was hear in quick snippets as the pair left the town behind.
As fate would have it, this time thier travels took them to a new area for WhiteMist, they traveled for days, weeks before finally stopping at a cave. Never had they stayed at such a place. She asked what they were doing here and was answered with a harsh growl and a slap across the face. For the first time in her 12 years Cleod had brought her to the clan's cave.
A few years passed, they remained relativly close to the cave, usually never more then a week's travel back to it. WhiteMist continued to hone her skills, learning from her father the art of theivery. Thier profits, though slightly less without her mother, keep the family comfortable....But Cleod wasnt happy with comfortable. One day he looked at her, studying her, she knew nothing good would come of it, and so she was right. “Girl! It's passed time you took your mothers roll in our enterprise. You need to use your assets to the fullest.” He took her to the local inn, took a dark booth and pointed to a richly robed man laughing loudly at a table across the room. She looked at him as if he were in sane...which he was. “You want me to seduce him?” She questioned. He smacked the back of her head. “No you little bitch, him” He pointed to a younger boy, looking to be about her age, it was the man's squire. The plan was simple, lure the boy to the stables, get the room keys, rob them and be out before the knight retired for the eve. He was known to stay up late at the Inn, so it would be simple. Or so she told herself. She started slow, moving to a table several away from the knight, making sure to be in the squire's sight. She caught his eye, giving him a shy smile it would seem. He returned it before snapping back to attention. She moved slowly acros the room, tail swaying with her hips with each step she took. She passed behind him, purposfully brushing against him with her body, tail trailing along his thigh, causing the boy to flush.
The night pressed on, the knight drinking more and more, becoming drunk. WhiteMist waited until just the right time to once again to catch the boy's eye, she moved to the door, wiggling a single finger to him, beckoning him to come to her. He looked at the knight, visiably torn, but with a sultry lick of her lips, she won out over duty. She reveled inside at the power her sex held over this man, giving her her first taste of the control one could have over another just by tempting them with desire. She lured the boy to the stables, pulling him wordlessly into an embrace, kissing him as she pulled him into a darkened stable. He pulled back, caressing her cheek with a gentle hand, looking into her eyes. “Your so beauti...” His words were cut off by the club meeting the back of his head with a sickening crack. She looked over his shoulder to find her father with a seithing look of rage on his face. He rolls the boy off of WhiteMist, raising a hand up to backhand her across the face. The blow sent stars to her eyes, but she was quick to twist away from him, coming to her feet, croutching low as she glared at Cleod.
”You're nothing but a catslut just like her! A whore panting after anything with a cock to stick between your legs.” He sneered at her.
She hissed at him, for the first time showing the defiance she had so long hidden. “Only because you made her that way.”
Cleod lets out a deep growl, picking the club back up swinging it up, intent on smashing it into her head. With the nimble grace of her bred and the quick side step he had taught her, she narrowly dodged the attack. She spun around, facing his back, a raging furry blinding her. She lept onto his back causing him to stumble forward, crashing into the wall of the stable. She felt a stabbing pain just above her belly button. She fell from him, holding her middle, but Cleod remained standing, slumped oddly. The dim interior of the stable revealed the grousim scene. A row a pitch forks lined the wall, impaling Cleod's body. WhiteMist lifted the hand from her belly to her eyes, the white fur was coated in blood. She pulled up her shirt, revealing a small round hole. The tip of a pitchfork prong had stabbed through her father and into her belly. She pressed litghtly at it, it didnt seem to be deep or lifethreatening, but the wound to her belly would heal leaving a small knot of a scar hidden in the fur of her belly, a reminber of her past.
Checking the boy, she found him dead. It seemed life had just brought her to a turn in her path. No longer under her father's dominering rule, free for the first time in her life, she vowed to remain that way. With a stoney face and a hardened heart she rifled through the pockets of the squire and then those of her father, releiveng both bodies of the coins they carried. Her slender hands lifted to the collar her father had so long ago closed around her neck. She throws it at his dead feet with a snear. “Never again...” She found a watersack and bag with meager supplies, and left the stables behind her. She ran from the town, not looking back once as she traveled, finding herself eventually in the Empire of StormBringer and the town of Nanthalion. The futre was wide open, the catwoman reliant only on herself.
Character 'White Mist', a female Nusutto, Catperson.
Description:She has a slender frame and only reaches a dainty 5'2". A hooded black cloak covers the stark white hair that tumbles down the back of this lithe creature. Sharp feline eyes stare out from under the cloak, one eye a deep blue the other a dark golden color. Pointed ears swivel perpetually, always listening to her surroundings, searching for her next target. Snow white fur as soft as down covers her body. The hem of the cloak just short of dragging upon the ground, conseals her simple garb, a dark blue tunic split on the sides as it falls to knees. A pair of soft soled boots reaches to mid calf and snug cloth pants outline her shapely legs. A finely crafted whip with silver braided through the handle is coiled at her hip, a gift from Harmonia. A ring sets upon the second finger of her right hand, a simple tarnished silver band with a rounded stone mounted upon it, nothing spectacular to look at really. Tucked into the top of her boot is a dagger, taken from an attacker after a failed attack. Her tailtip peeks out from the edge of her cloak, the fluffy apendage idly swaying, a usefull distraction at times.