About Beatrix the Fallen
A fair skinned woman of medium build in her mid twenties, Beatrix has a somber face with dark hair and darker eyes.
Beatrix was raised in the grasslands, a hearty daughter of farmers. Her brothers handled most of the work, and as she would be passed for any sizable inheritance, she left home to earn a living. At first it was simple guard jobs or escorting caravans, but she quickly found a place in the city guard before finally becoming a soldier.
Her platoon was sent to deal with a revolt in a small village, and upon arriving was ordered to burn the buildings and kill all inhabitants. Following orders, Bea and her companions slaughtered women and children as well as men who put up no resistance.
The guilt tore her apart. Rivers of blood tormented her dreams nightly, and she would be found furiously washing invisible blood from her hands. Unable to continue, she slipped out of camp one night and fled her company.
Suddenly this farm girl-turned-soldier found herself a fugitive from the law. She couldn't go home - they'd certainly find her there and put her to death for desertion. Without money, and without anywhere to go, she wandered the streets. She couldn't fall in among the beggars for fear of being recognized, but had to do something. After days of fruitlessly rummaging through refuse looking for food, the deep pangs of hunger gnawing at her stomach drove her to the warm smells of a bakery where fresh loaves were set out to cool. There they were, sitting within arms reach if she just reached out to grab one.
Before she knew what happened she was running down an alley with a hot loaf in her hands. After a few turns she was sure nobody was following her and sat down to feast. It was so easy! Why didn't I try this before? She reveled in her new found security, sure all her troubles were over. Unfortunately, it didn't last long - the bread and fruit migrated further from easy reach and it became riskier and riskier to steal.
Occasionally she'd spot an easy mark walking away with a baguette and just take it from them instead of risking the shopkeepers. At first she rationalized it, thinking she's not really hurting anyone and they could probably afford it anyways. After awhile it became almost a game. She'd laugh at the idiots who obviously didn't know anything about staying safe on the streets and carelessly flaunted their money and wares - then she'd take both. After all, someone needed to teach them a lesson about the dangers of life or they'd go on being taken advantage of. Really, she was doing them a favor. Sometimes they got hurt during the struggle, and there was more than one victim that never got up again after a strong blow, but she didn't care anymore. What was important was food. Survival. The memories of her slaughter as a soldier were buried one by one by fresh horrors every day until they were long forgotten, and uncared for.
Eventually, she had a run of bad luck. Most of the food vendors had moved their goods behind glass panes and day after day she couldn't find anyone to take it from. Hunger once again became her master, more than she had ever felt before. She stood for a long while staring at a loaf of bread, just as close as the first she ever took, with only a thin sheet of glass standing between them. Mesmerized by it and numbed by her hunger, she was oblivious to those around her and didn't consider the suspicion she was arousing.
The sound of shattering glass was quickly followed by a blow to the head, and she blacked out as her body slumped to the ground. By the time she came to, she was bound and laying on the cold hard floor of a prison cell, a piercing headache the only reminder of how she got there. Sitting up, she scoots her back to a wall and stares at the sliver of light, waiting.