<div class="floatleft">(http://media.moddb.com/images/groups/1/6/5425/sexy-russian-army-babe-uniform.jpg)</div><hr/><strong>Name:</strong><br/><strong>Professions:</strong>Ranger / Rifleman<br/><strong>Damage Capacity</strong><br/><em>Physique:</em>5<br/><em>Agility:</em>4<br/><em>Intellect:</em>3<br/><strong>Defense:</strong>15<br/><strong>ARM:</strong>0<br/><strong>Feat Points:</strong>3<br/><hr/><br/>The smell of oil was damp in the cabin.  Darkness shrouded the interior except for the lonely flame that cracked at the fireplace.  Asinya did not mind the cold of the outside, but she knew well what the cold could do unrestrained.  So the fire burned low while she sat by the window.  Starlight and memory guided her hands while her rifle was set back together, each piece sliding into the other with a soft click of metal on metal.  An oiled rag lay on the table she worked upon, while instruments of the task lay beside.  Many times in her service had she cleaned this very rifle and many times in her service had she seen what happened when a weapon was not treated so well.  Lovingly she slipped her hand over the wood of the casing, over the sleek metal of the barrel.  Only when her ears heard the silence did she look up from her work.<br/><br/>A lifetime spent in the forest had conditioned her to tune out the noise of the forest.  Owls that gave their calls to disturb prey, rabbits tussling in the snow and the baying of a wolf were all known to her mind and ears.  Those sounds belonged, but silence did not belong.  Around her life and death struggles happened, but tonight those struggles stopped.  If life ceased fighting death, then that meant only something greater stalked the woods and laid claim to the silence.  A warden of the land, she could not tolerate such disturbance.  She eased the rifle up to her shoulder, adjusting the sling so that she could easily carry the weapon.  Butt against her hip she glanced toward the door.  A gloved hand brought forth her axe, nestling it against her other hip.  To her back was gathered a ready pack, something she had learned to compel in the military at a moment’s notice.  Blankets, food and water were among the items along with additional ammunition and a compass.<br/><br/>Asinya emerged into the night buried inside the old fur coat she had earned so long ago in hunting.  Sable fur blew upward against her pale face while hair the color of a blood stained wheat field shifted in front of her eyes.  Only her fur hat kept the remaining strands from lifting upward to show the true length of her hair.  Against one flap of the hat gleamed wickedly the symbol of the Widowmakers, of her old squad and position.  Boots of natural hide coats her feet and around them stretched a wider make of shoes so that her movements might be slow but were steady.  The snow would not so neatly claim each step she made while she moved forward to examine the silence and the last noise she had heard.  If an end to the nightly chorus had been called, she desired to know the maestro that had made this call.<br/><br/>--OOC--<br/><br/>Tracking Roll<br/><br/>Pumpkin Seeds (uid: 152) rolls: 2d6 Result: 8[/url]<br/><br/>8 + 5(Per) + 1 (Tracking) = 14<br/><br/>