<===

Birthdate - ██/██/1983

Sex - Female

Sexuality - Pansexual

Height - 167 cm

Weight - 93 Ibs

Species - Valian

Sub Species - Grimdarii

A bastard born in Grimdark's slums, the young girl aspired to be a renowned pianist. Though her family was too impoverished to grant her the proper education needed to achieve her goal, making her have to learn on her own. Though unable to stay still, she would consistently become overwhelmed and eventually give up on her goal: worthless, meaningless, filth, awful. She had very few friends (and had even fewer), one, another young Grimdarii woman, and a mutt, her bestest friend. He always seemed to understand her troubles, when frustrated, overstimulated, unable to focus, full of loneliness and sorrow, he seemed to know how to come around. Of course her other friend visited too, but she was busy with scholarships and living her life the best she could and mainly came when their families had to meet up to discuss anything. It was peaceful, two friends, very good friends. Then at 14, her best friend was dead in the morning. Once scared near a dumpster, now gone in his loving owner's lap, a great hound, and a wonderful friend. Ashé was rather upset with this, she refused to leave her room for days — only coming out when necessary.

Two years of mourning, her parents grew tired of her. They left her with the rundown house, flying off, leaving her only with their debt — She wept that night. Every once in a while her friend visited her once more, but ultimately, she didn't want to see her. She eventually stopped coming over, leaving Ashé alone, isolated from most of the world. The tax man would yell at her, rent was due and if she didn't start paying she'd be evicted and left on the streets. She'd get a small job at a music shop, hardly interested in doing anything now, though she was able to cough up enough funds for bills and some food. Not enough to live a good life, but at least a liveable one. Rare showers, no lights, just the fire, some games, and her unregulated hyperfocused thoughts — intrusive thoughts. She would never enact any of these out, but what if she could? A year became two, two became three, three became four and four became five. Thin and frail, unkempt, lost, full of grief. 21 and she still hadn't had a lover, a proper house of her own, a name, normalcy; all her problems stemmed from her not being normal and thus if she needed to be normal she needed it now.

Though normalcy could never come — an awful sickening plague had hit Grimdark. While it could be treated, it needed to be caught within a week or else it would consume its host. She had caught it, she barely made enough to put food on the table and pay rent let alone cure this fatal ailment. A week passed, then a month, then two, then three; the fact she hadn't croaked yet was a miracle, but she was on borrowed time, death would embrace her soon. She sluggishly wandered out of the house, face malformed and mutilated, lumps and cysts covering her whole body making every step more painful than the last — her hands, legs and tail flayed by bacteria. She was about to collapse, rest peacefully in the white woods, the fluffy snow like a sharp, painful, but warm mattress. But as her hands caressed the ice, a being showed itself before her. Yes! It was the Guardian, a beacon of hope to hang onto life. She changed her position, kneeling down on one leg, both hands on the ground. She demanded life, to prosper once more as herself, to swallow her sorrow and to be cured of this awful plague and lifted from the awful debt her parents had laid upon her. The Guardian looked down on her, taking her pity on the young woman giving out her paw — for life she could exchange parts of her soul instead of the whole, under contract she will obtain any souls that could be lost in the process of creating a cure, she will give a mask that will grant immortality and once everything was done she could go back to living her normal life, debt free. They shook hands, a mask curated within her muscly frail hands, putting it on her face with a smile, unaware of its nature.

It'd latch on, seemingly refusing to let go. Visions of the darkness obfuscated her mind, scared and unable to think properly. A revolver, the Grimgun had formed and was now right in her hands. The Guardian had fulfilled part of her bargain, she now needed to do hers. The Guardian had given her a list of breachers, meant to pay their debts with their souls, though through thoughtful intuition never did. She felt bad at first, having to fire upon innocent people who wanted to make their lives better, though the longer the masked stayed, the more she got enjoyment from it. Every kill, every soul taken from its original inhabitant felt like a leech, a high that would keep her going despite her constant bodily malfunctions; Taking whatever money she could to feed herself, dress herself, medicate herself, enjoy herself. After two years, the Guardian created the cure and Ashé had been freed, while the physical symptoms would stay, she was no longer ill herself. Though, despite purifying the corrupted mask, something was wrong. It had already tainted part of her soul, her mind and the soul was damaged beyond repair from prolonged contact with the Void, she had been damned, she was too dangerous, a lost of self could lead to the death of thousands, millions, billions. The Guardian banished Ashé to a realm of her making, underneath the outskirts of Grimdark to ensure the people could not see what she did.

Isolated, alone; one year became two, then three, then four, then five, then six. Minimal contact with the outside world, minimal connections with those she could see; unmedicated, starving, even more broken than before. First it was bargaining, then it was harm, then death, then rebirth, then lust, then shame, unrelenting shame. The once dark visions became cruel and paralyzing — she could see herself as a goddess one second, then as revolutionary fighting for what was right, then finally the frail mentally damaged woman she was. Despite her danger, the Guardian still saw use in her, sending her to missions for the sole reason to capture and slaughter those who had continued to escape their deals, with a strict no contact policy, constantly berating, constantly reminding of failures. No love, hardly any empathy, only apathy and power, control over the weak who could never fight back.

Recently we caught her off guard on one of these missions. It's a cruel marvel what corruption and light can do to a person's body. Her organs are all severely damaged, seemingly constantly replaced... except the brain. Her skeleton is weak, several fractures, sprains and breaks, her skull is malformed like her face. Her skin is thick, harsh, scarred (either from harm or life attempts), rancid; expected from a woman who doesn't constantly bathe, the lumps are a similar story. Her hair is very thick and tangled, seems to be all over her as well, expected from a woman who doesn't constantly trim and shave. The muscle visible is very stiff, very dry. Looking behind her tail seems to be forcibly ripped off, bandage hiding jetting bone and flesh — whether this was from herself or from a battle injury is unknown, though based on how it's unhealed it seems to be from her request. Her ears seem to be the last remaining part of her that screams "Grimdarii", everything else can make her easily mistaken for a regular Valian.

Brain scans show several mental illnesses: Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), Depression, Insomnia, Photophobia, and Hyperacusis. In terms of her womanhood, she seems to have already experienced premature menopause due to her starvation, with some layers of lining still within her, completely infertile, dry, narrow, yeast infested with several UTIs. This isn't even to begin to mention signs of several strokes and seizures, strokes and seizures that should have killed her. Unfortunately research on her current state cannot be recorded, as the Guardian bailed her out a week after we had her. Though she seems to be insane, she still is able to think critically and speak her mind with coherent thought. Unless we get a chance to examine her again however we cannot be conclusive.

Relevant Articles

Grimdark Ryi The Void