Female

17

135 lbs

5'7"

White-Blonde

Long wispy strands framing her face, and shooting off in every other direction possible. Occasionally pulled into quick messy buns when she needs it out of the way.

Light Blue

Perpetually pale with pink, sun damaged splotches on her cheeks

Long lean muscles, intentionally crafted. She has a sturdy physique that she likes to think can hold its own.

There are remnants of various scrapes and nicks covering her body, though the most notable is a thin scar protruding upward from the left hand side of her upper lip.

Her arms and hands are always moving. Crossing and uncrossing over her chest, fists balling at her side. She is also constantly conscious of her posture, straightening her back and raising her chin when she speaks or notices herself begin to slump.

Originally, she dreamed of being a Huntress so that she could protect herself and her mother against the world. However, recent disillusionment has dulled her ambition, and she finds herself attending Beacon more because she doesn’t know what else there is for her to do.

Xaveria has a deep fear of being perceived or proved weak. This often leaves her overcompensating, coming off instead as brash and confrontational, perceiving slights where there are none but making her thoughts about them clear regardless.

Though she lacks much experience with Faunus or those from the other Kingdoms, Xaveria puts little stock in what outward appearances can tell you about someone. As far as she’s concerned, monsters exist all around, and it’s the ones you can’t see right away that you should be most weary of.

Though the sheer force of her will can be off-putting at times, she is also adept at inspiring or rallying others when the occasion calls for it. Her tenacity and whole-hearted determination give her above average skills of persuasion.

Running, hiking, training. Xaveria remains very physically active.

Xaveria’s strength of will is unparalleled, and though she is currently struggling with finding a deeper sense of purpose in her life, once she does set her mind to something there is nothing and no one that can make her back down.

Do no harm, but take no shit; that’s the motto that Xaveria lives by, though that first part...well, it’s a work in progress. She never intends to be rude, or loud, or aggressive, but she refuses to be looked down upon or underestimated, and she’s long since learned that if she doesn’t sing her own praises, well, no one else will. A life of chaos bred within her a strict need for control, while her own relative naivety regarding the world around her often means that manifests itself in the wrong way. While she’s well accustomed to the darker side of life, emotionally she remains young for her age.

That’s not to say it’s all negativity though. The flip side of her strong personality is a deep protective streak and utter devotion and enthusiasm for those that she lets into her inner circle. Her unabashed confidence in herself extends to those she loves, and she’d do anything to build them up alongside herself and keep them safe and sound. Perceived bullying or injustice just doesn’t fly with her, and she will be the first to stand up and say her peace, whether it’s the popular thing to do or not.

Huntress-in-training.

Anything sweet, with a particular love of sugary pastries

An old, heavily worn storybook that she keeps tucked in the bottom of her luggage.

January 15th

Mistral

Sanctum Academy

Xaveria’s lineage was one of struggle and strife, of pain, poverty, and starvation. Generations before her existed on the fringes of society, doing whatever they needed to to get by and even then only barely managing it. The world wasn’t kind to those sort of people, not back then and especially not now. A fact of which her father loved to remind her.

Her father, you see, he broke the circle. He clawed and climbed his way from the bottom rungs of society and built them a new life, a safe life, and that fact hung heavily above their heads as far back as Xaveria could remember, a foreboding storm cloud always threatening to burst. He was a shoe maker, by trade, or at least he was by the time his only daughter came into the mix, and though he loved to brag about his historic rise, the beginning details of how it had happened were always vague at best.

For all that he became, however, her father was not a kind man. That she did know. Her mother took the brunt of his aggressions, the physical ones at least, but she was no stranger to his rants and his rages, his screaming tirades. She often wondered, huddled under her bedroom covers, how much worse life could’ve been outside her high walls, on those streets her father threatened them with.

It was a contradictory upbringing, to say the least. On one hand she was taught to be proud, haughty, resolute; they’d centered themselves in the upper echelon of society and that fact alone spoke loudly of their worth. Yet still she grew up cowering in corners, counting every footstep so as to not make a noise when she left her room.

Her first and greatest love was stories, whispered in her ear by her mother’s soft, melodic voice. Every story book she owned was quickly dog-earred and ragged, but she clung to them like a life raft over choppy waters. Her favorite stories quickly became clear, and soon every book that her mother bought was that of the Hunters and Huntresses. She was obsessed.

As she grew, her childish fascination with the monster hunters grew and expanded, morphing into hardened ambition with each careless shove or purple-green bruise on her mother’s sinking face. Perhaps her father wasn’t the sort of monster that they hunted, but even still. One day she’d be strong enough, one day she’d keep her mother safe forever.

Convincing her father to allow her to attend a combat school was easier than she thought it’d be, playing on his sense of pride and affirmation by how well it would look to have his child accepted. Already she was getting into an unreasonable amount of fights for a girl of her age and station, at least this way she wouldn’t be getting in trouble. He approved of her decision, and she threw herself whole-heartedly into her studies.

That was how she’d missed it happening, though looking back it’d been happening for awhile, before she’d even left for school in the first place. She saw her father less and less, though every time she did he seemed different, older. His hair thinned, his face grew gaunt. It was if the anger within him grew outward, enveloped him, twisted his features to match his twisted insides. But seeing it happen in pieces, well, she didn’t put it together. She thought he was just growing old.

She wasn’t there when it happened, though she heard from the house staff that it hadn’t been a pretty sight. He’d dropped down at the dinner table, right into his bowl of mashed potatoes, blood streaming out his nose and ears. Pearl, her favorite maid, had fainted, and when the other staff came running they’d thought for a moment that she was dead too. Her poor mother, they’d told her, was in such a state of shock that she could hardly move. It was some sort of aneurysm, they decided. From all the stress of a successful man.

Those next few months were a blur of funerals and well wishers and figuring out how to keep her father’s business afloat. But she hadn’t seen her mother smile that much in years, maybe even her whole life. She’d made her mind to withdraw from the academy and focus full time on helping her mother with the shop. Perhaps they could grow it grander still, just the two of them.

Everything changed one lazy afternoon, when her mother sent her to fetch a spare blanket from her dresser to take on a picnic. Xaveria had never been welcome much in her parent’s room, you see, and she wasn’t sure just which drawer she was supposed to be looking in. When she found the half empty bottle of shoe polish hidden away in the back of her mother’s linens, she knew right away what it meant.

She slipped the bottle back where she found it, and never mentioned a word of it. Not to her mother or anyone else. That same afternoon, however, she informed her that she would be setting her sights on Beacon afterall.

Lairon Currant

Paxton Currant (Deceased)

None

Average

Above average

Below average.

Average

Above average

Below average

A two handed halbert with pointed spears at both sides. With a click of a button along the hilt of the weapon, the blade splits in to and rotates upward, transforming the weapon into a heavier, double sided battleaxe and releasing dust from small pores within the blade

Xaveria primarily uses it in halbert form, utilizing the double sided spikes and easily maneuverable blade for close contact battles and maneuvering around multiple foes at once.

The larger, battle axe form is saved for battles with more formidable foes, where keeping a healthy distance is key for survival. The heavier weight distribution of the blade makes it more energy consuming to wield, though the extra heft also packs a stronger punch. Now throw some dust in the chamber and you’re ready to rumble.

Much like in her personal life, Xaveria is the hit first, ask questions later type when it comes to battle. She likes to be the first in and the last out, every hit and scrape along the way only fueling her determination to come out on top. She has an impressive strength and accuracy, however strategy and foresight are not her forte. She has a habit of biting off a bit more than she can chew when it comes to battle, and not realizing until after the fact the danger she put herself and her teammates in.

Dust can be loaded into the blade of the weapon, creating a heavy combustible affect when it lands a blow. So far, Xaveria has primarily dealt with Fire dust, and is quite the novice when it comes to various types of Dusts and their effects.

Psychic Shield

When threatened or in danger, Xaveria can construct a powerful force field around herself, knocking back enemies for several yards and keeping them from coming near her. The shield moves with her, but falls if she tries to attack once more. For now it’s most useful ability is to buy time for a retreat.

Boost

The shield envelopes her in a large glowing globe

A shimmery, burnt orange

For now the globe can only protect her, pushing away friends along with foes

The barrier cuts off Xaveria’s ability to perceive the outside world, so she loses all sense of what is happening around her. The longer she stays inside the more dangerous it is to emerge unaware into the outside world.