#taskvig

↳ She was born Yamanik, in a different time as the reincarnation of the fabled Hero Twins. Her brother never did believe the legends, but she did. She yearned to wear the important title, to be someone important in their world. When news spread of their lineage, she jumped at the opportunity, even as her brother, Kasakir, wished to remain at their dying farm. Their village treated them as gods and as news of them spread, she prepared herself for the K'iche' leaders, convincing herself that she and her brother would be able to take them down if they so wanted to. As it turned out, the Spanish conquistadors did that for her. In the fight that broke out, she lost sight of her brother and just as she was going to call out his name, her vision went black.

The conquistadors did not know of the Hero Twins; they didn't care that she was a reincarnated god. They saw her as a woman first and used her as such. She became one of the many to be treated as "free labor" and no matter what she did to escape, they always managed to catch her in the end. It was never the labor she feared, but the men who believed owned her. They were the ones to stare longer than they ought to or pulled her out of her sleep in the middle of the night.

By the time they realized she was not aging, she yearned for death. She was given to holy men who wanted to purge the devil out of her. When fire did not kill her (despite her screams), they tried water. When water wouldn't work, they tried rocks. So many different ways for her to die and not one of them worked. As the time in between their attempts to kill her became longer, she found herself meditating. She mulled over the stories of the Hero Twins, reminding herself that she was them, she was more powerful than the humans who continued to try to manipulate her. Even as they starved her and used her body, she held more power than they could have ever imagined. In the dark cell, she discovered her true power. She bided her time and when the priest went to her with another attempt to purge the devil out of her, she killed him without batting an eye. And then she brought him back to life. Her words to him were "I want you to feel death as many times as I have."

She didn't know what to do with herself after escaping her cell. She thought about her brother, who must still be alive somewhere in the world, but without a way to track him down, he left her mind instantaneously. Instead, she just walked. She didn't know where she was going, but she vowed to never become someone's slave ever again.

In her aimless wandering, she saw many horrible things, countries brought to ruin, wars crushing innocent people. She hated this world, hated every man who believed it was their right to kill another. It wasn't their right; it was hers. She killed for sport, whenever there was a man who stared at women the wrong way or said something she didn't like. She seduced them, lured them in, stabbed them as many times as she could, and brought them back to life to see what she had done. Sometimes she killed them again, other times she let them live in fear of her return. Any man who killed another was her victim and she had so many to choose from. Never mind that they changed their ways or started a family to atone for their crimes. The world was unforgiving and she was only playing by its rules.

She was already at Newhaven when she saw her brother for the first time in centuries. He wore a silly outfit with a silly name and dubbed himself a hero. One look at him and she could see that life had been much kinder to him than it had been to her and she loathed him for it. The world always did treat men better and she thought it good to remind them that she wouldn't accept being pushed aside any longer. She wore her own ridiculous outfit and proved to all of them that she was stronger, that she was better, and she would kill anyone who tried to tell her otherwise.

Moral Alignment: ↳ Lawful Evil

Criminal MO: ↳ She usually kills or attacks murderers or those who have shown serious violence against others. She predominantly goes after men, though she has been known to kill women who are particularly heinous. She has maintained her normal MO of luring in whoever she intends to kill, taking their life force, murdering them, then traumatizing them by bringing them back to life. Most of the time, she will kill them again after, but occasionally, she will flip a coin to decide if they will stay permanently dead or not.

Extra Info: ↳ In case it wasn’t obvious, she is the twin sister to the guild member, Daybreak.

↳ She never bothers to give herself a new name as the woman she once was has definitely died. She currently goes by the name Ava, but will most likely change it whenever she forgets what she is supposed to be called or grows bored of it.

↳ She thinks of the vigilantes as even more ridiculous versions of the guild, but incredibly more dangerous. She keeps her eyes on the ones with questionable morals *cough* Red River and Puck *cough* and might even have them on her long list of potential victims.

↳ Her symbol is that of a scythe, both to represent her small beginnings as a farmer and the image of death she now takes on.

↳ She lives by a woman’s shelter and is often seen volunteering there. A great deal of her victims are the abusers of the women at the shelter. 

↳ As for money, she’ll usually take whatever she wants. She has gathered several priceless artifacts over the years that she sells whenever she doesn’t feel like taking something.

↳ She has a strange appreciation for Anima and is a fan of her work.

Backstory: Bridget Welsh always had a quite nervous disposition. Quiet for most of her life, she had learned to make herself more likable by adapting a dry, ironic humor. It served as a good defense mechanism against any bullies that tried to bring her down as she went through the trials and tribulations of puberty. As she got older, however, she became more and more reserved. That witty, sardonic humor became reserved for those closest to her. The rest of the world, in turn, saw a quiet girl with a bright mind and, every so often, a silver tongue.

Problems arose, however, when Bridget hit high school. Taking tests would have her face and hands going numb. her whole body would tremble at the thought of verbal confrontation. Small, insignificant things would make her heart race and her brain fall down dark, terrifying hypotheticals. Getting up in the morning became more and more difficult as dread seeped into her bones. Dread of going to school, hinged around the possibility of failure.

Things came to a head during a pivotal moment in her academic career: her SATs. Her test-taking anxieties skyrocketed, the constant reminder of the ticking clock weighing on her like shackles bound to her desk. She’d studied, gotten tutoring, but very little could prepare her for the pressure when the time came. Her hands shook so much she could barely fill in the Scantron sheet in front of her. Hell, she couldn’t even feel her hands, or her feet, or the tip of her nose. Bridget felt sick to her stomach, positive she’d faint soon as tears began to well in her eyes. This was it. The end of her academic career and, by proxy, the rest of her life. The overstimulation of it all flooded her system, the air growing heavy, body going electric with adrenaline and panic until –––

It stopped. Not the anxiety, not the fear, but everything. The world around Bridget completely froze, the room falling quiet as her fellow students stilled, along with the moderator, her mouth agape in preparation to speak. Dumbfounded, Bridget looked up to see that the clock, too, had stopped in its motion. Time itself had come to a halt. All except for her.

To some, maybe this would have incited more hysteria. But all Bridget felt was the most acute sense of relief. Maybe she’d fallen off the deep end, she figured, but even if she had this was precisely what she needed. She had all the time in the world, quite literally; the least she could do was take a damn breath and collect herself. She even stood, marveled at how she could still push back her chair and walk around without anything snapping back around her. She got water, let herself sharpen her pencil, even stared at the ceiling for a good while before filling in more test answers. It was only when, consciously, she decided she was ready to return to the real world that time resumed with a jump, the moderator appropriately announcing the remaining thirty minutes left to the test. With newfound confidence, Bridget continued, her alter-ego Ora formulating in the back of her brain as she sped ahead of her peers.

Work as a supposed superhero came slowly to Bridget, not much of the fighting type if truth be told. It took quite a bit of personal practice for her to hone her ability without sending herself into body-numbing panic. The trigger, she found, was a definite and concentrated need for time to cease, its mere fabric stopping in its infinite weaving at her own will. By proxy, resuming of time came with purposeful permission to do so. It relieved her, knowing her power was completely intentional and not heavily prone to accident. That is, of course, save for a few exceptions: angry fights, low emotional points, or even times of high excitement. The conscious decision to return, though, always kept her safe.

Telling her parents proved difficult; how can you explain to someone a power which they cannot perceive? Evidently, by using your time-without-time to move quite a few things around the kitchen, spilling milk and inverting pots, to make big enough of an impact. Immediately, Bridget’s mother took to highlighting news events, especially with the rise of Spectrum patrolling Newhaven. Her father even got her bits and pieces of steampunk-esque attire from Halloween stores for her, and many holidays were filled with bits and pieces of costume paraphernalia for what they disguised as ‘cosplay’ to non-knowing relatives. Bridget’s younger brother even helped her design her sigil. So, Bridget –– Ora –– began to work in consistent bursts: her temporal interruption perfect for throwing any evil-doers off balance and letting her move to a safe place before damage befell her.

Such covert tactics, ironically, got the attention of the Guild relatively quickly. More of a flashy bunch, the Guild seemed keen for a member with less austere tactics and abilities. Under their wing, and within the safety of the Guild’s headquarters. Ora has begun to flex her temporal muscles, just beginning to explore what other variations of time manipulation she can slip into her wheelhouse.

Furthermore, she’s learning to rebuild her confidence; a superhero cannot go around with their head ducked whilst in costume, anyway. The surplus of fellow feminine company obviously helps. Maternal and sister-like figures have thus far helped Bridget to be more open in her dry humor, and even with her own physique as what one would assume is an ‘active’ member of the community, despite her general lack of a quick pace in her tactics. The older gentlemen within the Guild treat her akin to a sister, which also helps in feeling less awkward walking around the halls of HQ. It’s only the new kid, Atlas, that seems to set her stomach to flipping, and she’s slowly starting to figure out why...

Overall, Bridget is a nervous, intelligent, and sweet soul. More one to look before jumping, she sometimes comes off as overly trepidatious. But get her annoyed enough, and she can have quite an impish and mischievous streak. Anger in Bridget brings with it rash thinking and a spike in impulse, usually offset by her own ability. Maybe she’s still a bit trapped in herself, deep down. But that’s nothing constantly trying to save the world cannot fix.

Moral Alignment: Neutral Good

Signature Move: Temporal Interruption –– To put it simply, Ora can stop time; think Zack Morris from Saved by the Bell. Everything freezes around Ora, and she can go around, move things as she pleases, take a nap, go get intel, whack a few people upside the head. Whatever she needs to do, she can, all whilst everyone around her perceives that she did so in a blink of an eye.

Extra Info: 

Sigil: A clock with slightly bent hands, a la ‘Alice in Wonderland’, Mad Hatter sort of deal.

Diagnoses: Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Panic Attacks, mild OCPD.

Family:

Mother –– Tara Welsh née Skulkin. Copy Editor, detail-fanatic, socially conscious. Will be the person to go to local protests fr liberal social change, but also the person to correct grammar on posters.Maybe a hair too much on the pulse of current events.

Father –– Emmett Welsh. Convention Organizer, not-so-closeted Nerd-of-All-Things. The type of person that offers to plan every party you so much as suggest you might be thinking of having. Hellbent on tight scheduling.

Younger Brother –– Marcus Welsh. Currently 17, Student, aspiring Graphic Designer. For ‘some reason’, very much into making Ora fan art and Guild promotional posters. Gets sick to his stomach whenever his friends mention wanting to get any type of romantic with his sister or with Ora, which obviously have ‘no correlation whatsoever’.

The bullies, muggers, gangs, and worse. In every hidden corner and dark alley she passed, she felt there were ominous eyes stalking her. Like a serpent that was stalking a mouse. Her legs hurt from the long walk and to make the situation worse, she wasn’t getting any closer to her home. Undoubtedly lost, the girl sat on the curb pulled her knees to her chest and started to cry. 

The figure creeping in the shadows recognized his opportunity for the girl was now alone. He wanted her school bag, chances were it could contain something of value. The figure grew closer, and the sounds of his breathing grew heavier. 

Patty shuddered when she heard the clink of a knife being unsheathed. It forced her to peek up, revealing to her the man who’s large shadow darkened her world. She saw the blade in his hand as it was pointed threateningly at her. But even more threatening than his knife, were his eyes. There was a certain desperation to those eyes, one she had recognized from living near The Valley. It was a look developed from being subject to several unfortunate events. It was a look of desperation. She turned away from the man, shielding herself behind her bag, letting out a shrill squeal. 

She waited anxiously for the man to take her. For the knife to pierce through her stomach, for the pain she imagined it would bring. But nothing came. She sat there with her eyes closed for what felt like too long. When she opened them, she opened them to not just one man, but to two. They were caught in what looked like a wrestling match. The armed man with the hungry eyes struggled to sink his blade into the others body. The other man, tall and dark skinned, controlled the mans wrist, keeping the knife away from him utilizing his strong grips. Realizing the man had come to her rescue she yelped with a sudden excitement- a big mistake. It diverted her rescuer’s attention, the homeless man capitalized and stuck the knife into her rescuers belly. Her rescuer dropped to the ground in pain, as the homeless man returned his attention to Patty. 

She wanted to run, her breathing grew heavy from the fear. She tried to take off with a quick leap, but it wasn’t quick enough. Her long hair was her downfall. The homeless man grabbed it as she ran, and yanked her backwards out of the air. She hit the ground with a thud and flinched with pain. She wasn’t much of a match for a grown up.  

The man looked back at the corpse he had left behind. The blood soaked through the clothes and the boy struggled to breath. He shouldn’t be alive long.

 The attacker shook his head, he had made a mistake. Now he’d have to get rid of any loose ends. He looked at Patty, his interest in the bag was now replaced with the fear of being turned in as a murderer. Once more the man made his way towards her.

“Now.. it’s your turn.” His voice was rough. 

Patty tried to scream but a big fist from the man knocked her to the ground, it caused blood to pour out of her nose. As death approached her, she forced herself to face it. Tears rolled down her eyes but she kept looking the face of the  man’s. He raised the knife above his head, just about to bring it down on her skull. She was frozen, too scared to move and too scared to talk. Before he could stick her with the knife, he was tackled to the ground by Aasim. The body of her rescuer was soaked with blood. The red covered both the men now as they rolled around the ground, scrambling for dominance. Her rescuer, who should’ve been dead, fought hard and fiercely for the knife. This time her rescuer came out on top. He quickly pierced the homeless mans shoulder with his own weapon. It had been enough to put the man down. He wasn’t going anywhere now.

Patty was shocked. She approached her rescuer who kneeled before her catching his breath. 

“Hi..” Was all she could manage as she wiped the tears from her eyes. Still terrified by the thought of her attacker.

Her rescuer, obviously thrown off by her voice, took a hesitant step backwards. He pulled up his hood so it shadowed his face. 

Aasim looked at the young girl, he had done it. He’d finally saved someone. He followed her glance, the attacker,

“He’s lost too much blood, he won’t be bothering you anymore.” 

That was the only comfort he could offer. He’d saved her, but killed another... How could one save by killing? Aasim asked himself. It was against everything he’d ever been taught, to kill. Aasim wasn’t raised by killers, he was raised by healers. How could he keep their legacy alive by doing what they were against? The sound of a siren forced him to push aside his thoughts, returning his attention to the situation.

 She looked at him with searching eyes, as he backed himself into the alley that he came from. 

“Wait. Don’t go!” Patty reached out to the strange man. But he ignored her protest and was gone as quickly as he’d came. She heard the sirens as well. She felt small as they grew louder. She feared interaction with the police. They’d ask her why she was outside, or even find a way to accuse her of the crime. As the police cars arrived at the scene, Patty also disappeared.

For years after, he continued to fight to try to find her. He followed his people wherever they were pushed and protected the innocents as best he could, all while vowing vengeance on whoever had taken his sister from him. But no matter where he looked, she wasn’t there. He left his people to find her, using any clues that he could find to pinpoint her whereabouts. He searched for sixty years, but could find no trace of her. It was then that he changed his name for the first time and never told another soul his birth name again.

It didn't take long for him to realize that he would not age anymore and after wasting so much time searching, he tried having a normal life. He settled down and went back to his roots as a farmer, but after he was forced to watch his wife and children die, he vowed to never do so again--a vow he would forget about multiple times in the future. Regardless, he chose to travel instead, knowing that the growing Christian missionaries would see him as a demon if he stayed in one place for too long. He moved along central America, learning new languages and skills as he went, always introducing himself with a different name. He became a better swordsman and an even better shot with a rifle as he boarded a ship for the first time. From piracy to legitimate seafarer, he was able to visit countries such as Portugal, Congo, and India. He stayed in one place just long enough to absorb their culture then moved on. He fought when he had to, but he preferred to keep his head down.

In his 500+ years of life, he has lived through many trying times. He manages to maintain his sanity by giving back to the world and finding those who he believes to be genuine and kind. He takes comfort in knowing that even when the world is twisted, there are always people trying to heal it. However, he is not without his weaknesses and his loneliness is definitely a reoccurring problem for him. Whenever the feelings begin to creep up, he usually tries to start a new family, which always backfires in one way or another. Recently, however, he decided to renew his search for his sister, figuring that the newer technology might be able to help him. Upon arriving in New Haven in 2010, Edgar caught the eyes of the Guild by single-handedly stopping a robbery. While initially opposed of going into the limelight, he figured that if his sister was still out there somewhere, maybe she could come to him. And so he remained, an immortal warrior to the group, enjoying the company of his comrades while he still can. After all, he knows they will die eventually, like they all do 

Moral Alignment:     ↳ Neutral Good

Signature Move:     ↳ Hand to hand combat has always been his preferred way of fighting and he is known for bringing in a wide variety of fighting styles from his centuries of studying. Typically though, he will use a spear-thrower (atlatl) to bring his intended victim down then will fight them with his fists until he wins. From there, his finishing move is always with an obsidian knife that he claims to have had since he was a boy.