Jacoba

by **Coba** on December 17th, 2010, 1:31 am

Jacoba
- Coba to you -

So come out of your cave walking on your hands
And see the world hanging upside down
You can understand dependence
When you know the maker's land

Age: Could be 16. Could be 18. She's never been sure.
Race: Human x Unknown. Probably humanoid.
Gender: Female
Current Occupation: General delinquent. Firedances for own amusement. Skill set is more mercenary and bounty hunter suited.

Physically
Your grace is wasted in your face

An untidy mop of coppery locks of red tones, almost metallic in sunlight will often obscure of face of strong features and crooked nose long healed from a number of breaks sits above a full mouth that's quick to smile, the grin often as crooked at her nose. Her eyes are large and fringed with thick dark lashes, light warm brown in colour and often alight with some mischief. Her skin is pale, and if one was to ever see her without her clothing once comes to realize exactly how she grew up. Her body is laced with deep scars, some almost artistic in nature and horrifyingly deliberate, as well as a number of healed or healing burn marks. On top of these and sometimes beneath are elaborate tattooed lines of red and orange, forming intricate designs, stylized animals, abstract in nature and seem to lead a life of their own.

Due to malnutrition she's topped out at 5'4, and hates to be reminded of it. Strong through the frame and leanly muscled, her movements are agile and full of power that stems from her practised martial art dancing style she uses in her performances. Skinny for the same reasons as her diminutive height, she can with some ease pass in loose clothing for a rather beautiful boy with the assistance of some bandages and dirt. She finds also the broken nose helps this appearance. As aforementioned, she likes to dress in men's wear for it's freedom. Wearing a pair of lose pants, similar to those worn by Inarta, grey green in colour and filled with pockets, tucked into a pair of well worn leather boots laced loosely to her calves. They seem rather big and baggy, made for someone bigger then herself, which they were. Holding up her pants are a number of belts, some studded, others plain. Her shirts are often neutral shades and sleeveless. On her hands a fingerless set of gloves to allow her freedom of her nimble fingers. Atop this is a red scarf that she wraps around her neck and occasionally doubles as a hood. She uses it to conceal the jagged scar across her throat that often draws stares. She wears a scimitar strapped to her back that she often wraps in wick and sets alight.

Physiologically:
Your boldness stands alone among the wreck

Coba's personality is much like the flames she loves, once bright and full of spit and spirit, but fed with such powders that the bold oranges and yellows became corrupted and manipulated into a darker flame, warped in blacks and the reds of drying blood. An odd mix of a decent person and a violent animal, she often confounds those who seek to make company of her. A pyromaniac, she often battles the impulse to set things alight. Roguish in character with a morbid sense of humour and absolutely no basic etiquette that tends to exasperate those who would attempt serious conversation with her, she's utterly honest and far to blunt for the graces of polite dialogue. Stubborn to a fault, not to mention ill tempered, she's bold, though not socially outgoing, and generally unafraid of anything. When she warms to someone, she expresses affection in ways that typically confuse or downright confound the unfortunate recipient. She has no brain to mouth filter, which lends itself to a tendency to make entirely inappropriate comments when she really should have keep her mouth shut. That's not to say she's exceptionally chatty, in fact some initially think her rather reserved or even shy until she opens her mouth. Despite her knack for being inordinately annoying, she's strangely likeable, in a I-would-really-love-to-hit-her-with-a-frying-pan sort of way.

While highly intelligent, she's completely unschooled and rather rough around the edges. Unless you talk to her at length she comes across as somewhat stupid or ignorant, though in reality she's highly perceptive and learns very quickly, always willing to learn from anyone willing to teach her. She has an extremely, almost freakishly high pain threshold that allows her to continue to fight tougher opponents when others would have crawled off to nurse their wounds. This caters to a love of fighting, playful or not. She fights dirty, be warned, unafraid to bite, trip or all manner of uncivilized things. When beaten, she gains profound respect for the victor, whether they want it or not, and if they don't outright end her will have to put up with her intense study at least for a time until she moves on. Doggedly determined, she never gives up once she has put her mind to something. Capable of extreme violence, sadism and frighteningly cold and calculating resolve when it suits her purpose, she gives her enemies or targets no quarter. Deeply distrusting and highly suspicious, she's been accused of sleeping with one eye open, referring to her extremely light sleeping habits. While she's confident primarily, she becomes rather flighty when confronted with affection she does not feel she has garnered. She will not tolerate anyone touching her beyond violence of blows, and if one was to attempt say, a friendly hug, they would trigger a knee jerk reaction from her to strike or make distance.

A bit of an anarchist, she ignores lectures and has no respect for traditional authority figures whatsoever, making a point of finding the dirt under her fingernails far more interesting in anything you have to say. This will often earn her blows from less restrained individuals, which she then takes as an open invitation to retaliate, and from there everything devolves into an all out brawl. If she choses to follow someone however, she will do so almost unquestioningly. In terms of loyalty she's surprisingly dependable, more so then people would expect from an ex-criminal and Sunberth native, and will lay down her life to defend those she extends it to. The issue there is earning her loyalty in the first place, or wanting it. She respects very little in others apart from skill and backbone.

Origin:
You'll never settle any of your scores

Coba was born and raised under a brothel roof in the slums of Sunberth. As the product of a prostitute’s usual business, she knew no father, by name or species, and she was neither loved nor acknowledged by her mother after she grew old enough to walk. Coba’s mother was a particularly lovely woman who had been sold into slavery at the brothel after her husband failed to pay his debts, deeply resented her station and through it Coba. If Coba got attention from her mother at all, it was in the form of vicious strikes and scathing hate, clearly demonstrating that Coba would find no shelter from her.

From the time she could walk she was on her own, surviving on what she could scrounge in the gutters or subtly steal from the brothel kitchens, sleeping in tiny alleys and narrow niches in the junk that is the slums where adults could not get at her, nor would the notice her. But she was not able to sever the tentative lifeline of food and occasional protection the crumbling roof offered. As she grew into a comely child, dirty and underfed though she was, she attracted the perverted attentions of customers. The older she got, the worse it became. She fought viciously, but was too small to hold up any sort of deterrent to anyone bigger then her who wanted to physically subdue her. It was a violation contrary to her nature, but one that sparked and fed a festering, powerful hatred for anyone who wronged her.

As most people do, Coba had a breaking point. When Coba retaliated against them, she did so in a manner to punish everyone within those four walls. At the time, she would have been around ten or so. Sealing the exits tight on a particularly busy night, she set the place aflame. Completely undisturbed by the inhuman shrieks of pain, fear and anguish, she instead found immense peace and elation in the scent of burning flesh as it wafted towards her. Tasting bloodlust and liking its cloying flavor, she melted into the corruption of Sunberth’s night.

With arson and subsequent murder to her name, she neither stayed on the streets nor went to the Orphanage; no, Coba had higher aspirations for herself. She chose to seek audience with the recruiting member of a rising name among the gangs skirting the area known as Wolf’s Den. Being on the smaller side and young, Coba was laughed off, but she persisted. After several offers to kill her himself if she wanted to die so bad, he gave her an initiation assignment. She was to find and kill a wandering priest of some obscure god who’d annoyed their top with his preaching, then dropped out of sight the minute he’d realized his mistake. It was, of course, not a job that the recruiter had intended her to take seriously, but she would take any scraps thrown her way at this point.

Diligent and highly adaptable, she spent a month tracking down the man, finding her appearance as a small and largely innocent child edged her closer and closer to her target. Eventually she found him, huddled in the Temple of the Unknown. As a native, she knew better then to kill him within the walls of the Temple, but instead stalked him silently and subtly as he moved out into the city for goods, believing himself safe and his insult forgotten since no one had come for him for a while. He didn’t even realize his time was up when a large stone dropped from the heavens to crack open his skull like an egg. The stone, of course, was no accident, and a witness, if they felt so inclined, would have said they saw a flash of shadow peep over the edge of the flat rooftop from which the projectile had fallen to examine it’s handiwork, then dart out of sight. Of course, no one did care to ask; he was a loudmouth outsider. They merely kicked his body off to the side to bleed out and continued on their way. Coba collected his head, at least one side of his face recognizable after the ‘accident’, and his robes and holy book to take back to the gang as proof of her work.

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Jacoba

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