In a cataclysm known as the Nightfall, the worlds were almost completely destroyed by a harrowing surge of darkness.
In the shadows of the ensuing chaos a new group has taken shape. Led by an Aegyl named Kalos, the 11th Hour touts an esoteric knowledge of how to combat the darkness and restore the worlds. They might be the worlds’ best chance at survival; but nobody really knows enough about them to confirm or deny their claims.
On the brink of collapse, the universe holds its breath in anticipation. Of restoration? Of destruction? It is up to individuals like yourself to decide.
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Weapon: She carries standard knives concealed into various places (Depending on wardrobe: strapped to arm or thigh, inside her boots, strapped to her torso, etc), a collapsible bow staff tucked into the back of her belt, and a pair of sai (reference: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sai_%28weapon%29) at her hips.
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Appearance: Finch stands at a mere five feet one inch in combat boots and looks as if she could be blown over by a too strong gust of wind. Despite her thin limbs, it’s obvious that she does have a good bit of muscle tone; however, she is somewhat flat chested and is often mistaken for a young boy. She wears her dark hair short (reference: Yuffie but a bit shorter) and keeps it easily manageable. Her blue eyes are characteristically icy and cold, stereotypical of the light blue hue. She tends to stick to a very basic uniform: a t-shirt varying in white, black, or grey and various accessories depending on the weather. If it's hot she reverts to khaki shorts that fall around mid-thigh and a pair of boots that extend to her knees; if it's cold, she pairs the shirt with a baggy pair of khaki combat pants and a sturdy pair of combat boots. Various jackets and vests with many pockets can be paired at random. A pair of belts hang at her waist, holding her weapon(s). She has a tattoo of two chess pieces on her left thigh, a rook and a pawn intertwined, a small bird just behind her right ear, and queen of clubs over her heart.
Personality: This little woman doesn't take any grief. She's no nonsense, cynical, and sarcastic person. She hates to dress up in any form and having to maintain feminity. Finch sees little purpose in maintaining appearance and is often mistaken for a boy. This is no matter to her; male or female makes very little difference. Finch is extremely wary of people and does not socialize easily. She tends to shy away from any sort big social events and keeps to herself. However, she thinks quickly on her feet and adapts to dangerous situations with the fluidity of experience.
History/Background: Finch grew up as just one of those kids. Parents, guardian, authority figures-- she possessed none of them. She spent most of her childhood running wild, surviving on her own with no concern for the line between right and wrong. She lived in the gray area of life. Good was what kept her alive and bad was what didn't. It was at this time in her life that she picked up the nickname 'Finch'; she was small, light, and fast, like the bird that they named her after. Now she goes by nothing else. When Radiant Garden became swathed in darkness, Finch stayed in survival mode. There was nothing more she could do. She didn't have any power to defend the world; she had no desire to risk her well-being to put things back the way they were. Struggling to live life in the dark was no different to her than trying to live life in the light. True, along the way she assisted those on their own path of self worth, but she always managed to turn such situations around to benefit herself. Finch is always a survivor, never a hero.
Role Playing Sample: The air was frigid, the type of chill that would cause one’s body to convulse if exposed for too long. The tiny female shrugged her thick jacket closer to her frame. It was tattered and worn, much like the little body it housed. Dirt smudged her sharp features, hair ruffled carelessly; the young woman looked like a vagabond. Well, looks are often deceiving, but perhaps in this instance that was not the case.
Finch pursed her lips against the chill in the air, eyes narrowing cautiously as she scanned the landscape. No danger visible, but the hair prickling on the back of her neck told her something was up. She was never one to ignore instinct. Hand snaked to the back of her coat, snagging the bow staff tucked neatly in the back of her belt. With a flick of the wrist, it expanded and snapped into place. Pausing, she listened, waiting for something to happen.
Wind rustled the trees, the only sound breaking the silence. Finch narrowed her eyes slightly. Perhaps she was getting a little too jumpy in her old age. Keeping the staff clutched securely in her hand, she continued on her path, wary of the unseen thing that had spooked her so.
