Miistical has a minion!

Fawkes the Firue

the heroic story of miistical

With one mighty leap she was upon the beast, slashing at its fantastic black scales that glistened in the bright sunlight beautifully. But how that splendor had caused so much strife; how it had caused the death of hundreds of innocent people. Miistical's blade had dug itself into the nape of the great bird's neck, where the hard layer of scales was not positioned to protect. It let out a roar of pain, its neck whipping back and forth as it tried to relieve the pain the blow had dealt.

Miistical, who was focused entirely on the task at hand, removed a concealed dagger from her belt and threw it with precision at the beast's chest. The bird, thrashing about, took no notice of the incoming danger and failed to protect itself from the new onslaught.

With a sickening sound the blade pierced through the scales on its chest and only the hilt of the dagger could be spotted. As it released one last cry the bird fell onto the rocks at the peak of the grandeur mountain Miistical's quest had lead them to, its heart ceasing as the blade prevented it from beating any further.

Miistical, however, did not look pleased or triumphant. Rather, she was expressionless. A necessary evil it had been to kill this majestic beast. A kill that would forever plague her hands, despite the many lives she had spared by claiming the life of the once innocent animal.

The sun was sinking over the horizon; a magnificent view - such a beautiful place to be one's last, she thought, as she walked towards the bird and withdrew her sword from its neck. She sheathed the bloody weapon and her eyes fell upon the dagger that violently stuck out from its chest. Delicately, she removed the blade. She kneeled beside the fallen bird, set the dagger beside its body gently, bowed her head, and allowed a moment of silence to fall over the clearing, mourning the loss of life.

Miistical stood, squared shoulders and chin held high, as she took one final look at the beast she had slain. Turning on her heel she headed back to the village where celebration of this death would ensue. In her wake was the dagger, the bird, and a shred of her own self, all to be lost and forgotten alongside the setting sunlight of another day.

Age: 15
Enjoys: swimming, training, reading
Misc: vegetarian, elite hunter, only child

General:
Miistical comes from a small town surrounded by mountains and hills of all sizes. While being the town's protector has it's benefits, Miistical has learned the of the price a hero must pay.