A series of dark scars over her shoulder blades and back. Some whiteish and raised, others dark and skin level. Some even looking as though she had been burned at some point in time.Character’s Sexuality:
If theres one thing her father taught her, it's that no one can be trusted. Even the people in your group can't be trusted, because eventually, you're going to have something they want, and if they can't get it from you nicely, they'll find another way.Bio:
Korryn was some of the lucky ones. But narrowly. As the combs where dropping, she was being born deep underground, in a bunker that her father had bought years before her birth. He had been high up in the government for the united states, and he understood better than anyone the inevitability of a disaster of some sort happening. Not only were they lucky to have that bunker, but they were lucky that he had spent years upon years stocking it with things they would need to last a life time. Food, water, clothes, weapons, booze. Anything that could be used as currency, support them, and his drinking problem, they had.
For a time, things were quiet. Until people began to find the entrance to the bunker. It wasn't bad at first. Desperate families who just need some food and water. The people who were of use were allowed to stay. Before long, things were seemingly thriving. Everyone had a place, and everyone was, for the most part, healthy. But that didn't last long. Eventually, if you want to survive, you need to befriend gangs. So thats what her father did. He supplied them with food, weapons, water, even shared a drink with them every so often. Sometimes he shared his wife... and his daughter. Never trust anyone, Korryn
. Even her own father. When her father got really drunk, sometimes he liked to take out some unsettled rage. He did that in the form of beating his family. His favorite thing was to heat up old wire hangs, force Korryn to take of her shirt, and whip her with it. Or he'd get creative and find other things, whether it was a thick leather belt, or holding a hot pan to her back. Karma has a way of kicking you in the ass, though.
Her father died of a heart attack not soon after she left the bunker. Unfortunately, her withdrawn, nearly catatonic mother passed months before he did. It was probably an unwise decision to leave the saftey of the bunker, but it would only be so long before a gang came along and overran it. She packed a couple bags full of supplies. Food, clothes, a few knifes, glasses (of course), and a gun with ammo. It wasn't until she had been out on her own for nearly a week that she had no clue what she was going to do. Sure, her father had taught her how to deal with thugs, but he hadn't taught her how to survive above ground.
She had learned to remain quiet over the years. Not out of fear or obedience, but observation. She could read people like a book; or at least most people. If the time came where a gang tried to take her, she couldn't go down without a fight.Status:
Not yet capturedOwner
: CommunalPlayer’s Limits:
Scat, removal of limbs, animals. Everything else is fine.