Evelyn Rose Fury's page

Twenty years ago, it had to be. I was young, almost too young to remember. It’s interesting how time not only fades your memories, but warps them too. I know that I could only feasibly remember the tears blurring my vision as I did everything I could to keep my sobbing silent, I know that’s all I could have done. For some reason my memories seem almost omnipresent, like I know more about everything that happened than I could have witnessed. Perhaps it’s my blind rage preventing me from admitting that I know nothing and that I was useless and filling that hole with ‘might have beens’. I can’t be sure, but what I can be sure of is that I f!@&ing hate witches.
I was no older than three when the monastery took me in. They were kind and generous to a suffering orphan. They kept what happened a secret for a long time, but I grew tough. I became a monk and learned their ways, but curiosity burned at my bones. I know now why they didn’t want to tell me. They knew the curiosity would grow into fear and fear into hatred.

“You’re a good girl.” They’d say. “You can do anything you want with your life.”

"I want to find my mommy and daddy!" I would reply. I daydreamed about them. My father was tall and handsome with dark hair and tanned skin, my mother had fair skin and pitch black hair. They were kind, they loved to play with me, and they always had something witty to say (because I never do). They were farmers, but I always imagined we did well for ourselves. I would pretend some of the other children in the monastery were my younger siblings and that my parents had just sent us outside to play until they had dinner prepared for us.

Bastards, who were they to keep me from what was rightfully mine to know? Maybe I was too naïve to tell back then, but they knew I wasn’t cut out for the monk livelihood. I know they knew it and that’s why they wouldn’t tell me. I wasn’t interested in their schooling, I wanted the training. I wanted to be a strong warrior like Ayumusensai and little else mattered to me. That is, until they thought they had rid me of my chaotic nature enough to trust me with what I wanted to know. I was a teenager, those a@@#!&&s. I was practically an adult.

“Your parents… They were killed by a witch. They didn’t abandon you.” Ayumu told me softly. “We found their bodies shortly before we found you under your bed. We didn’t want to sever your hope after such a traumatic experience.”

That makes perfect sense, let me believe they left me there for two days all alone instead. Lying sons-of-b@%%+es. My memory flooded back all at once and the pain stung me almost as much as it did back then. My mother had told me to hide under the bed and all this time they let me think that they were just abandoning me? It’s like I could feel the flames that killed my parents. 'Altering one’s own consciousness is only difficult if you try to prevent it.' That’s what they taught me. They couldn’t stop my need for vengeance. That’s what they were afraid of and they thought they could train me well enough for me to discipline myself against it. They were wrong, I’m not narrow-minded like they are, no. I’m proud and I’m strong. I wasn’t about to sit around and pray for good things in the world, I was going to go out there and do good things. I was going to go find that evil son of a b$#*& and kill her myself.

It’s interesting what such hate can do to an otherwise good person. It creates irrational thoughts and unnecessary superstitious beliefs. No matter how much you tell yourself that what you’re thinking is crazy, the rage surges through your veins. That’s something those monks never understood. Don’t fear your rage, harness it. If you give yourself just one thing to care about and to think about, it rules your life. Why does that have to be a bad thing?

I ran away from that place in search of that witch and I plan to kill every evil soul on my path there. I will train with armor and weapons and I will learn to use my anger and my lust for vengeance to become a righteous destroyer of the wicked more capable than the disciplined nut-jobs and their codes and statutes. I fight for freedom, I fight for justice, and I fight regardless.

And to any evil-doers I might encounter, remember this; the only difference between me and a paladin is that I don’t have a silly code holding me back from killing every last one of you.

Rose is headstrong and sure, but she lacks the same discipline that other enforcers of Torag, particularly the paladins, have. She is kindhearted and does good wherever she can, but she is prone to a zealous attitude and divine wrath when it comes to that which she perceives as evil or unnatural. While she does not outright fear magic, she distrusts it and is very cautious of anyone who wields it openly. She sometimes likes to joke and drink, but most of the time her mind is set to some goal and she will use whatever means she has to attain those goals for the good of mankind.

Rose's greatest fear is to die without fulfilling her oath of vengeance. She is incredibly prideful and will go through whatever lengths necessary to avoid such a fate.

Rose has a moral compass not unlike a paladin's. Committing any act of evil, including sacrificing an innocent person in anyway to better herself in a selfish manner, is crossing her moral boundaries.

Fury

Rose is actually small for what would be considered standard for someone of her might. She refers to this deceptive amount of strength as 'Divine Might', but the explanation is easily debatable. She stands about 5'9" tall and weighs just under 200 lbs. She is thickly built but quite compact. Her hair is as black as midnight and her eyes a deep blue. She has light scarring covering her body and face from the constant battle, but her face could be described as well structured. Her nose is long and narrow, her brow is slight, and her jaw is strong, but rounded. Her complexion is fair, but her skin tone suggests much time outdoors.