Mercy Seregruthel

Alignment
 Sheet Link
 Height
 Weight
 Aliases

Placeholder

## Appearance

On the outside, Mercy strikes an imposing figure. Clad in charred and battered steel, she seems to have just crawled from the pits of Hell. Despite the apparent damage, the mail is whole and sturdy. Tattered leather and reinforced cloth pad the flesh, clearly having seen better days. Along the shins, arms, pauldrons and the backs of the hands are rows of scratched spikes, some stained by old blood.

The sabatons possess spiked cleats, offering superior traction at the cost of the health of any flooring. The helm possessed a pair of curved horns that ran along the crown, yet lacked the refinement to allow goring strikes. Through the visor one may glimpse the golden motes smoldering within. Heavens forbid they rekindle with hellish flame, for such served as a harbinger of imminent violence.

Beneath the armor, Mercy was a rather pallid waif. Not deathly so, but it contrasted heavily her choice of armor and the lengths of midnight hair that fell from her head. Her skin was surprisingly lacking in scars, despite her lifestyle. A potential explanation lay in the fact that her flesh was much firmer in most places. Still more than pliable enough to allow movement, but it did not yield nearly as easily to applied pressure. Sharpened claws extended from her fingers, appearing more as if the bones within pushed their way beyond the skin rather than the fingernails simply coming to points.

Despite the tools inherent to her flesh, her weapon of choice was a hefty bearded greataxe. It was a heavy and crude tool, but irrefutably deadly especially in her hands. Its faces were scarred and battered, but the edge was very well maintained.

## Personality

In general, Mercy strikes a calm demeanor. Collected almost to a point of aloofness, she moves about with mindful determination. Behind it all lies a painfully-short temper, one that its owner loathes yet accepts all the same. Violence towards herself or those she considers friends or allies can summon forth the brunt of her infernal fury quickly, but mere threats only incense her mildly.

By virtue of her size and strength, she is most comfortable when around or working with durable objects. Iron tools, stone walls, and steel. When given items more fragile, or surrounded with delicate people or furniture, the giantess becomes remarkably timid. She seems to second-guess her movements, sometimes coming to a dead halt until the 'offending' circumstance passes, if able. If roused to anger, or already in its grips, that timidity vanishes.

She understands well that most people are initially afraid of her, either due to her size or obviously-inhuman traits. Thus is why threats are mostly disregarded by her; she assumes it the simple result of fear of the monstrous. Given a moment to reconsider, a soul may recant its aggression and the two can engage in a civil fashion. Yet should they endure, Mercy will take whatever steps are necessary to neutralize them. Not necessarily kill, but given her heritage her blows are commonly lethal.

She is particularly susceptible to alcohol and food. With more mass to fuel, her portions are often far heartier than most. Coupled with the Oni blood in her veins, she can become quite the glutton when the situation allows. It *does* allow her to hold her liquor remarkably well, though.

When possessed of little else to do, Mercy could be found either working the forge (should the circumstances allow) or practicing with various weapons. Despite her size, she will train with everything from a stiletto dagger to a mighty greatclub. By understanding how the weapons feel and flow, she believes, she may perhaps learn better ways to modify or craft them. She would treat armor similarly, were it not for her uncommon frame.

## Background

There was once a time where Mercy lived true to her name. A kind and gentle soul, a loving mother of fraternal twins and a supportive wife to her human husband. Yet this beautiful life was shattered upon the arrival of bandits to their quaint town. Being so far from the major cities, the Town Guard were little more than trained militia men, and whilst they held their own at first, they would come to falter.

To protect their way of life, everyone in the town who was able took up whatever weapons were at-hand. For Mercy, it was a large splitting maul. With her children hidden in what she believed was a safe place, she took to the streets to beat back the invaders. By virtue of her abyssal blood, she was an arguably terrifying sight; even without training, when her blows connected they did so with tremendous force. Leather-clad brigands were sent sprawling against the walls of homes and shops, too dazed to continue fighting as their wounds slowly claimed them. When it seemed the invaders would be beaten back, they sought a desperate distraction: they set the town ablaze.

The amber glow of immolated homes served as illumination enough as the fighting continued into the night. Where things turned dour for Mercy and her family was just as the bandits made a full retreat. Routing to the hills, the surviving townsfolk scrambled to save their homes. Yet the bandits did not retreat as one unit, thus stragglers were left behind. Mercy's own house had caught fire amidst the raid, and her children were hidden within. Through the choking smoke, she saw a figure smashing their way through a partially collapsed wall. Rage mixed with Horror, and she rushed the figure with maul held high.

It connected with a wet *crunch* into the figure's back. As they fell, Mercy dropped the maul in shock.

The figure had been her husband, trying to get into their home to save their children. Now he lay lifeless, spine both severed and shattered, as blood oozed from the wound. There was no saving him. The crackling of flames near her face snapped her out of her stupor, and she rushed to pull her children from the smoldering house. They were saved, but at what cost?

The town would begin the process of reconstruction, yet every night Mercy was plagued with the memory of her husband's death. Anguish begat Rage, Rage begat Fear, Fear begat Anguish. Two weeks later, a disheveled Mercy passed her children into the care of their uncle. She had come to distrust her own hands, for the idols of kindness they had been was forever corrupted into tools of destruction. She would wander from the town, wanting to put as much distance between herself and her children as possible. So afraid was she of bringing them ruin that she would sacrifice herself to mitigate the risks.

Over the years, she would adopt a more and more savage lifestyle. Taking up a massive greataxe and donning reinforced armor, that which was once a doting housewife evolved into an implacable juggernaut. The fell blood in her veins granted more than enhanced strength: it provided greater vitality and vigor, as well as a source of murderous intent. By willingly succumbing to the violence of her heritage, Mercy became an avatar of slaughter and cold butchery. She embraced the beast she was so terrified of becoming.

That which served as her mental anchor all throughout was the memory of her children. In exchange for monstrousness, she convinced herself that she was destroying that which could potentially bring them harm. Any pain she suffered was pain they would not.

Yet such a violent life is bound to cause conflict with more civilized folk. In a moment of banditry, Mercy and a handful of other highwaymen ambushed a carriage as it made its way to the city, at the behest of a certain Galen Roderik. Whilst the initial assault was successful, they were not anticipating the number of armed soldiers lying within. Ultimately defeated, Mercy fled as her compatriots were slapped in chains.

Whilst on the run, Mercy sought to keep a low profile by shrouding her armor. It was a fool's errand to try and hide her size and inhuman features, but she could attempt to separate the face from the fugitive. Hopping from town to town, she would pick up odd jobs for a smattering of coin to sustain herself. When the proverbial heat became too great, into the night would the giantess vanish, wandering the road to the next settlement.

Time would have her depart the claims of her pursuer's monarch, and with it the hounds on her heels drew back. Not too keen on causing more ruckus, she adopted the name 'Enri' and sought legitimate work. Given her strength, tasks like working lumber or construction came easily; but that which would offer stability turned out to be smithing. Apprenticing under a greying man named Jack Hughes, she picked up the art with respectable speed.

Despite Jack's shock and surprise when Enri would reach into the furnace bare-handed and come out unscathed, he found the prospect a bit easier to bare. With Enri's resistance to flame, that was less coin out of his pocket for tools and attire. With small sums saved here and there from such a student, Jack was able to relocate his shop from a small rural town to the outskirts of a larger city. An influx of customers followed, some awestruck at the giant horned woman working white-hot steel with bare hands.

Popularity was double-edged, for as many that were left stunned by the display an equal measure began connecting Enri to the rumors of a 'giant bandit clad in black'. None could quite pin it irrefutably on her, but it soured her reception among the cityfolk beyond what her inhuman features elicited.

So long as no one came at Enri with weapons drawn, she did her best to cause as little trouble as possible. Save Jack, her closest ally was perhaps the barkeep at the nearby tavern; if only for the exorbitant amount of coin she handed over to dull her insatiable appetite.

## Abilities, Equipment and Powers

 Specific Type
 Condition
 Special
 Bonuses
 *A fragmented set of blackened platemail, held together with strips and rivets. Tattered and dirty cloth hangs from the shoulders and belt, obscuring the true shape of the wearer.*
*This battered scrap is the armor of choice for the giant blacksmith, Enri.*
*Beneath the scratches and rags, what pieces remain betray exquisite craftsmanship. Curious, then, why its owner seems intent to hide them.*
*This brutal cleaver is the weapon of choice for the giant blacksmith, Enri.*
*The countless scratches, dings and long-dried traces of blood along the faces of this axe tell a grim and violent tale. Is there more to the taciturn smith than silence?*

## Gallery

Reference for armor.Reference for teeth.Reference for her claws, for I feel I describe poorly.