Isha Lavell

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• Vital Stats

  • Name: Isha Lavell
  • Gender: Female
  • Played by: Bazilenot
  • Race: Human/Wereleopard
  • Age: Early 20s
  • Body Type: Athletic
  • Height: 5'6"
  • Weight: 169lbs
  • Complexion: Indian Brown
  • Hair: Black Curly
  • Eyes: Leopard-like
  • Handedness: Right
  • Relationship Status: Single
  • Personality: Wild and playful
  • Mannerisms: Isha has a habit of finding or causing trouble if none is to be found. She also displays many feline-like traits.
  • Likes: Painting, Cooking, Good food, Fruit, Meat, Listening to .music, Warm places, Cuddling and General Closeness to Others
  • Dislikes: Being insulted due to her appearance, Liars, Most .Sweets, Being taken over by the beast, Small spaces/cages, and .not being in control.

• Description

  Long wavy black hair trails along her spine to settle in the middle of her back kept just out of her face by a copper headband with little amber gems all along the front. The headband was held in place by two strips of leather she keeps tied beneath her hair, further allowing her to keep her hair out of her face. Her flesh is similar to the tone of those in the dessert or places like India, a brown bronze that's not quite milky or terribly dark. Her eyes resembled that of a leopards, large and filled with a hunters gaze.
  
  Though they were green they held little flecks of gold, a hint of color developed from being in her leopard form for too long. Further evidence of such a fate exists within her mouth. Where most canines are proportioned to match the rest of a human's teeth, hers are pointed and razor sharp like that of a felines. Most of the time Isha hides them with careful smiles and practice, so a flash of kitty-fangs is almost always intentional.
  
  Generally Isha dresses in rather tribal clothing. Across her bust a strip of red or cream fabric keeps her decent. The color, depends on her mood, but both cover not just her chest but both a little above and below.The only other clothing she was a long matching loincloth that kept her entirely decent both in front and behind.
  
  She moves as if her body has muscles that humans never use, giving her an eerie edge of grace that should only ever be seen in a predatory feline. Even on the best of days she cannot hide her wild uncivilized self. Though she is friendly and generally fun-loving there is always an edge of danger, and rules that most humans wouldn't know. However with that said she does her best to remain comfortable in her own skin and still be at least a little like humans around her. It isn't uncommon that she can be caught purring or indulging in a meal far bigger than someone her size should be able to consume.
  
  No matter her feline-like traits, one must never forget that her beast is not just an over-grown housecat, but a hunter that still has a taste for human flesh. Try as she might Isha can't always keep her leopards hungers at bay.

• Playstyles Chart

  Always	Sometimes	Maybe	Never
  Always Para Rp Group Rp One-on-One Rp Whisper Friendly Interested in Plots	Sometimes If applicable to the Rp and characters - Sexual Rp Violence Fights Feral-minded In leopard form		Never Casual Sex

• Biography

  The warmth of the sun beat down on a small secluded village that sat miles away from the nearest water source. It wasn’t a small village despite the difficulty that gathering water often time presented. It flourished in its own ways due to the number of aristocrats that lived at the very edge of the village, closer to the water than the middle and lower classes. Each class was positioned that much closer to the water source so far away, a river that cut through the semiarid terrain. Trees were scarce, but the sparse trees that did exist were thin and lacked the number of leaves that trees in wetter regions might have had.
  
  The grass in the area was just the same, the blades that sprouted from the nearly pure white sand were thin. What patches of grass there were, were as thin as patches of beach grass, but every bit of greenery only added to the actual beauty of the village.
  
  Though it wasn’t grand a great deal of work and love had gone into it’s creation. The streets and walkways consisted of stone and were made similarly to the ways that roman roads had once been so often created. They’d been made to last with stones placed so it created a slightly domed road, allowing water to spill off into little ditches at the sides of the roads, preventing flooding whenever it did happen to rain. Rains in the semiarid area tended not to soak into the ground often causing great floods no matter how much it rained. The fact that the rains that came were often rivals of monsoons in the rainforest made the ditches all the more essential. The buildings were no less impressive. They mirrored the architecture of ancient Rome, not exactly, but close enough that the inspiration was uncanny. Only the rich could claim that their houses looked remarkably close however. The poorer the household the less Romanesque the house appeared. The poorest of the population had a sand-brick constructed house that was shaped like a windowless box.
  
  It was in one of these houses that a young Isha Lavell grew up and lived with her mother and father. At one time they’d tried to have a son but her sibling hadn’t survived past the age of three. In their society it wasn’t uncommon due to the fact that as it was they survived off of very little food, the area didn’t allow for farms to flourish, and though her family owned a farm, it provided just enough for themselves and a little extra to sell in the village. For the most part, the village was a center of trade. It was a beautiful place where traders and caravans could come through to trade wares and services as well as, as much information as they could. Often times it was a center for news to travel and the main source of income was artisan trade. That was how her family put food on the table. Isha, from a very young age of five, could paint rather detailed paintings. It took practice for her, but she could do portraits that over the years grew to have such a likeness of their subjects that even aristocrats would occasionally grace them with enough money for a feast for one evening. They never grew rich off of her income, but by the time she was fifteen the paintings she made of the landscape, portraits, or the market started selling for just enough that they ended up somewhere in the very lower crust of the middle class rather than the very lowest of lower class where they might have been.
  
  Occasionally, when Isha sat in her favorite place overlooking the only water in the entire village- a small man-made pool of it that was filled throughout the day by a line of women that carried pots back and fourth to keep it full- she would paint something that she didn’t exactly see, but instead imagined. Each time she earned claims from those around her that the pictures were from a sacred god of sorts. They wouldn’t believe that it was actually just her own doing, so she’d paint them these ‘blessed’ paintings; they were often what brought in the greatest amount, inspiration came few and far between though, especially since she couldn’t always steal away to her favorite spot.
  
  Usually, even if she couldn’t steal away, she painted outside in a shaded spot so that others could see her work. It didn’t just allow others to see her, but for her to see the different types of people that came through. At times she’d see everything from supposed witches in hiding to gypsies, to strangers with amazingly complex gadgets that they called ‘modern technology’. Of course, she’d seen a lot of it already, but each new person brought things with them that were more interesting, one more thing with a slight difference that made it just interesting enough to keep her fascinated when they described how it worked. They weren’t always trying to sell her the goods so much as enticing her to tell others about it. She was an artisan after all, and a child, most of them lived by the idea that they might be able to make it interesting enough that she’d tell others. She did, when she thought it was worth another person’s time and money but that was very rare for her.
  
  She found most of them strange, peculiar in their habits and their interesting gadgets and obsessions, but none were quite as strange as a particular group that came through one very cold summer night. Just as Isha was gathering up her paints and putting them away for another night the sound of hooves clipping the stone road filled the almost quiet streets. Only people were left lingering when they arrived, and they arrived in such a state that distracted her completely from what she was doing. They came in a group of men and women of all different skin tones, all of them wearing piercings of jade and hardly any clothing so that their bodies were blatantly on display. Each one wore an obsidian blade on their belt with intricate handles… but it was the patterns made over their skins that completed the scene. Later she’d discover that it was called henna, but at the time it looked as if a painter had taken a brush and painted intricate patterns of lines resembling feathers, curves, dots and swirls. Some were so slender that they were awe inspiring. As an artist they were interesting… but as a young woman of seventeen, they were also curious. Not nearly as curious as the man they surrounded.
  
  The man road on horseback, the only horse the group of them had, and behind him a wagon was pulled along filled with wares of various kinds that he obviously intended to sell. But it was the look of him that was peculiar, while those that surrounded him wore little; he was swathed in light cotton-like cloth and wore a shroud that hid his face. Much like a robe it hid him completely, but not his hands, which were the same almost mocha color as her own. It looked natural and not like the result of several burns like some of the more pale people seemed to acquire if they stayed in the semiarid area for long.
  
  He was handsome to her for some unexplained reason… but the beauty of mystery faded the moment one of the followers tripped. Not a second later the man on the horse lifted the horsewhip and lashed out at them, drawing what sounded like a hiss of pain from them, while sending Isha back into the shadows to hide from his brutality. The fact that he would punish someone for stumbling baffled her, but she couldn’t dream of crying out to him to leave them alone. She wasn’t that gutsy. Even if she was, the last thing she needed was to bring her family to the attention of some eccentric man liable to cause them trouble when she could just as easily let him pass on through.
  
  Isha decided to do what she thought was the smart thing to do, she left him be and turned her back on the strange people, ignoring their existence. They would go away like everyone else, and just as all of the other oddities she’d witnessed, she’d forget about them in time. While she did feel a pang of remorse for those being abused, she couldn’t let it get to her. Just like that she packed up the last of her things and wandered off into the darkness to make it home before the village’s curfew fell.
  
  
  Eight days passed and just as Isha had suspected she and her neighbors had practically forgotten the brief strangeness of the group that’d passed through. Figuring they were gone, she named them a thing of the past and had moved on with her life, ignoring the negative parts of the brief brush she’d had with them. However, on this eighth day the full moon rested high in her sky, and her life, like many in the village, involved rituals surrounding the full moon. They believed that on a full moon the spirits of the dead were able to cross over and visit the world of the living and believed it was necessary for you to place some sort of gift on the grave or a shrine to your ancestors whenever the full moon came. If someone neglected to place a gift on their grave the spirits would become lost, unable to return to their own world as they frantically search for the gift that was to be left for them to take back as a memento.
  
  Isha had been designated the one responsible for placing their offerings at the small shrine they’d made for their dead ancestors. It consisted of their usual, an offering of food made by her mother and a small carving made by her father that she’d painted with her own paints. They believed these little tokens to be from the heart and though inexpensive they were filled with the love the spirits needed. However… this particular full moon Isha was running behind. An aristocrat had hired her to do a portrait, but had insisted that she be cleaned and brought to their home in order to paint it. She did, and with gusto, but by the time she left with coin in hand she had to run to make it home in time to grab the offerings and dash into the night. She had little over an hour to make it there and home before curfew set in, and it would take at least a half an hour to make the round trip. Naturally Isha was panicked. Even if she could make it, she couldn’t visit with them as usual and would have to apologize for her rudeness.
  
  With her sandaled feet carrying her across the sand as fast as possible, she hurried to the shrine. She’d almost made it when all of the sudden a weight crushed her to the ground with pain running down the length of her spine. She felt nothing of the actual sand pressed into her face as the sensation of claws tearing into her back tore a scream from her lungs. She could hardly breathe as each breath took in mouthfuls of sand, and the thing on her back took out chunks of flesh with each swipe of it’s claws or bite of it’s impossibly large teeth. The pain she felt burnt through every vein like fire, so horrid that she could only scream and thrash beneath the monster, struggling for freedom as she remained pinned to the sandy earth. If it heard her, it didn’t care, and by the time she realized she was dying and it seemed like an eternity passed though it’d only been seconds, it was too late to plead for mercy. A moment later the moonlit night fell into darkness as unconsciousness swallowed her whole.
  
  Later the sound of birds coaxed her from her dream world as strongly as the sensation of the ground moving beneath her managed. She was just barely aware that she was covered only by a light cloth draped along her legs and rear, but that became a thought in the back of her mind, unimportant at all. Through pain and fatigue she opened her eyes just a tiny bit, just enough to see sunlight streaming in through the holes of a cloth wall that she happened to be facing when she first woke. She’d been placed on her side with her cheek to the side, preventing the pain in her back from getting worse. Though she was still pained, she forced herself to look away from the blinding light streaming in across her face. What her gaze fell upon wasn’t goods or crates of things like she expected to find, but instead there were leopards. Not just one, but at least a dozen of them curled up together in a pile, all of them surrounding her in a semi-circle.
  
  One was chained up in a cage with blood still spilled down its front. She didn’t have a chance to scream or cry out for help. Between the pain, exhaustion, and the shock of what she’d woken to find, she passed out before she could even open her mouth.
  
  Hours later she awoke to darkness and the sensation of hands brushing through her hair, softly cooing to her, soothing her through her whimpers of pain as they changed her bandages. She could just barely make out talk of how quickly the bleeding had slowed and how soon it’d stopped. They were all amazed that she’d even survived the attack from what she could gather, and the fact that she was well enough to be making any sound was a good sign as far as her recovery. When she made an attempt to ask what they meant by what they were saying about her, her mouth was covered and she was shushed and told to focus on getting better before asking questions.
  
  Without really meaning to, she obeyed them. And though they were strangers, from the moment they began touching her, she knew they wouldn’t harm her. They became her comfort soon, and just as quickly she began associating their closeness with a greater comfort. Their bodies curled around her own became normal, despite her lack of clothing and sometimes theirs. There was nothing sexual, just comfort, like warm arms hugging her close and protecting her from pain. They would stroke along her arms and back when she would wake up from the pain, whispering soothing words to her until she was lulled back into sleep. When she had to eat, they fed her and held her close, helping her with every bite she had to take.
  
  Though they were her comfort and increasingly felt like home every day, she knew that every day that their little wagon moved they grew further and further from the world she called home. By the time she could ask about it they told her that she was too far away and that to try to return would be suicide. She believed them, not so much because it was their word, but after night upon night of travel we had to be miles away from where she lived. A few miles of travel after someone was so hurt would be too much for anyone, if only because of the blistering heat and lack of water.
  
  She gave up on the idea of escaping her kidnappers and accepted the fate that her family would never know what had become of her. What bothered her most wasn’t her living family, but the fact that she’d failed her dead ancestors, and somewhere out there their gifts lay being pecked at or stolen by animals. It bothered her to know that her family would be left wandering, and that she wouldn’t be able to remedy it and apologize to them.
  
  The thoughts didn’t fade, but eventually Isha came to terms with it as time passed. She couldn’t change it, so she immersed herself in the people she was surrounded with. Eventually she came to understand what had happened, she found that she was surrounded by wereleopards, and that the entire reason she was, was simply for the fact that she had become one herself. Had she not begun healing almost as soon as they pulled the werelopard off of her then they would have left her for dead, but they’d seen her healing and had instantly decided to bring her with. It was the only way that they could keep hiding what they were and continue to live on without having a hunter come after their entire Pard.
  
  Isha slowly came to fall into place with the Pard she’d been forced to become a part of. And though she was accidentally dragged into it, she didn’t hate any of them. She adored them, and soon when they’d stop at places and the master, who was just a name and a face for the time being, let them walk about for ‘free time’. When they explored together, they laughed and ate together in a large group, often times filling their days with nothing more than playful fun, good food, and relaxed company. They even eventually purchased her clothes like their own to replace the tattered rags she’d had to walk around in for a while, and eventually they worked together to get her a blade similar to the ones they wore. Most of the gifts were to make the master favor and overlook her in the same instant. To be noticed, she soon learned, meant to fall into a trap of him forcing you to be a leopard until you lost your human mind and succumbed completely to the beast.
  
  By the time she’d learned of the fate that awaited her if she gained his attention, she knew that she would be in absolute horror if she was forced into that way of life. She’d turned at least once under the full moon since she’d first become one of them. Even just the one time engrained the idea into her head that to be a leopard forever would mean losing everything that she held dear. She didn’t like the coldness of the beast, or the way that it didn’t even hate when it wanted to kill. It wasn’t about hatred… it was about the blood and the feed and the violence, the primal need to simply do what ever it took to survive.
  
  Though the year and a half of peace and living with the changes that came with the moon, she gained enough control over herself that she didn’t have to worry about losing her temper. She didn’t always fear changing as when she first became a wereleopard, instead it became less of a concern until the full moon days came. The days just before and just after were almost as bad as the full moon itself, but aside from those three days each month she was able to laugh and slip into her beast as she chose. Of course, she had to eat a lot just after, and sleep when she returned to her human form, but she had her friends to guide her through it all. They’d traded gifts and stories, and become closer to the point that when she was finally called to privately meet with their master, she wasn’t the only one that wept. They all did, some in silence, others blatantly holding onto her as if they’d try to keep her from him. It didn’t work that way though.
  She had no choice but to go to him when he called to her.
  
  Among the many lessons she’d learned with her Pard, she’d come to learn that he could force someone into their beastly form. And not just force them, but keep them that way if he wished. The only time he ever called someone to him was to make a new pet to sit at his side, and pet never implied remaining human. The moment she slipped from the arms of her leopard family she knew it would be the last she would ever sleep in their arms or be comforted by their words. That night they all knew that when she left she would never return, forever lost to the beast within.
  When she entered the room he’d rented for the night in the inn the rest of the Pard slept just outside of, she already had wrapped her arms around herself. Suddenly she felt the need to be more clothed than she’d been in over a year, and it was entirely his fault. Before she even saw him she felt uneasy, too aware of what was to come to want to be a part of it. For just an instant she thought to run, but it lasted only for that moment before he spoke from deeper in the room than just the doorway, beckoning for her to come to him.
  
  Trembling she entered the room as she’d been told; cautiously walking until he came into view sprawled across his bed. He looked just as beautiful as the day she first saw him, but the fear she felt for him gave his beauty an undertone that laced his gentle appearance seem menacing. His mocha skin matched mine almost perfectly, only just a shade or two darker. The man she knew as master had long black hair, long enough that if it was let down in public it could be mistaken for the hair of a woman. His build, however, wouldn’t allow for such a misconception.
  
  He motioned for her to come to him, his deep brown eyes locked on her green as she obeyed unwillingly. She made it half-way onto the bed before he reached for her and brushed his fingertips along her cheek, drawing a cringe from her as he leaned in to whisper what would be the last human words she’d hear into her human ear for over a years time. “Come to me my leopard, my pet, and never betray me or it will be the death of you.”
  
  In that instant pain poured into her body not much different from the night when she was attacked. Only unlike then, her screams were muffled by a hand over her mouth, holding in the scream as she was forced to change beneath his hands. Without wanting to she was forced into a leopard shape, screaming and clawing at his hands all along the way until finally she was pinned down on the bed as a cat instead of human.
  
  Not even a day later she was given a color coated in gemstones and jade, even little orbs of obsidian with a mockery of a leopard dangling from the center made purely of jade. She was still perfectly aware of who she was and what had happened when he placed the collar on her and began calling her by pet names. She was little more than a pet, and try as she might she couldn’t get free from the spell or what ever magic kept his power over her, and in turn, her in the leopard form. She couldn’t turn back regardless of what she did.
  
  Time passed on though, and despite her countless attempts to fight off the beasts pull, but soon she found herself slipping. She forgot what it was like to care about how others felt, or feel bad about thinking of a friend as food. Instead she just quit caring with the human side of herself. It was as if very slowly she forgot all of what it meant to be human. With that came the loss of her ability to recall some memories, specifically the memories attached to her human side. She couldn’t form them the same way either, instead she thought of things in terms of food and survival, not how she felt about it, but that the tasks to accomplish getting them were simply necessary and life or death.
  
  In the time he had her trapped, she’d never once been able to slip back to human, not once… and just when her mind had almost become out of reach of any hope of rescue. When she’d almost gone mad from the beast’s taking over, her master found trouble at his doorstep. It was the type of trouble that even a pack of leopards couldn’t keep him from, especially when they weren’t willing slaves to begin with.
  
  Her master, a man who often times gambled found himself in trouble with not one, or two, but over ten different men. All of them wanted to collect debt, but like very good gamblers, they had their own men to send to get the money back. They were the type of men who had paid to sink their teeth into whatever remaining assets this thief had on his person or in any stash that he might have.
  
  Due to his debts they didn’t even wait for him to come out of the wagon when they called out for him, when they moved in to collect, they happened across her Pard when they were out in the middle of no where, camped out and trying to get some shut eye. On nights like that the leopards slept outside and Isha’s master and herself slept inside the wagon. By then Isha was too far gone to be kept in anything less than a gage and so that was where she was when the first scream tore from her master’s throat.
  
  Still stuck in the form of a leopard she opened with a leopard’s scream, growling at the men that had snuck into the wagon. Through leopards eyes she witnessed the scene of them tearing him apart in the most literal sense. The scent of blood filled her mind, making her long to join in on their hunt. It lasted only for so long though… for the moment that her master actually died what ever had kept her as a leopard suddenly was lifted.
  
  Like a ton of bricks she collapsed in the cage, the collar around her neck feeling as if it weighed more than her body. Just as most weres after being in their animal form for too long, she’d taken on a few traits that were far too much like her own animal. She had kitty-like fangs and though she couldn’t see or feel it, her eyes were more leopard-like and had grown to contain little flecks of gold. The moment she’d landed at the bottom of the cage, she’d fallen into a deep sleep, oblivious to the changes being made in the world around her, or to the feel of a hand curling her own around two dice as she and one of her dearest friends were to be torn apart forever after never seeing each other for over a year and a half.
  
  The men had taken it upon themselves to divide the wereleopards up amongst themselves. They were to be taken off and sold, or kept as pets for themselves. Isha fell into the slave category and in the hands of a stranger she was carried off as entirely nude as the day she was born, robbed of that heavy collar but with those dice in a death grip. Somehow through it all she managed to cling to the gift of her friend, but she would never see them again.
  
  By the time she woke, days later, her mind was still not back to human. Though her face was once again human the only human thing she could cling to where the pair of jade dice in her hand. She stared at them for a time, unsure of them, but somehow knowing to hold onto them. On the verge of sniffing them to see what they were, she lifted her head at the sound of someone shuffling in the room. She hadn’t realized it, but she was in just a plain room with a sleeping person on a bed close by.