I spoke with Neiska regarding this so...

Is there any word on this? I've waited over a month and it's not even been looked at, so she told me I should just check on here. Would be really nice if I could at least get a number of how many people are in line for approval before my character.

Sorry for any inconveniance.

Login Name: Nihilisticum

Character Name: Nihilisticum Blackheart

Race of Character: Tiefling

Sex: Shemale (The request).

UBR Request: Nothing apart from the gender.

Character Explanation:

Physical description:

At first sight one would be struck by the stature of the creature. Over two meters in height and with the build of an amazon, this tiefling embodies the corruption of human blood with that of a fiend's. Sanguine hair crowns the head, covering rows of horns and leaving only the front pair visible just at the hairline. The ears perk up at sounds, pointed in the manner of a feline more than that of an elf. Eyes of a dark fire burn brightly in shadowed areas, golden irises sorrounded by red with the thin pupils of a predator gaze with hunger at whoever comes close. It is quite obvious that this woman could've made a beautiful figure of a human had her blood not been so tainted. Her lips are plush and practically beg for a kiss, yet when they part they reveal rows of sharp teeth more suited for tearing into flesh. Past those teeth is a tongue abnormally long, forked yet thick enough to make talking as easy as for anyone else with but a slight drawing of the "S"-sounds.

The tiefling's body is often left with minimal amounts of cloth and armour, even in battle, and what a body it is. Strength ripples beneath the tanned skin, muscles honed by years of living as a warrior in harsh lands. Faint marks are seen, scars from wounds suffered, what with her light armor it is not hard to imagine she's suffered a slash or two. Arms as thick as those on any man her size carry whatever she chooses to fight with are mostly covered by metallic pieces of armor or trophies taken from the bodies of slain foes. Strong legs carrying her considerable weight are the size of small tree trunks, giving her behind a sultry and large appearance as they grind together in her sensual walk. Both hands and feet end in sharp claws. Her chest is of considerable size, the fiendish breeding having caused the tiefling's body to grow into one that promises blood and sin in equal measure. Trailing from her behind is a thick tail, serpentine in its movement yet only covered by tough skin. What truly made this tiefling a monster to most was found on the opposite side, however. Where a female would have a narrowing build there is a thick male phallus.

The tiefling walks with the sultry sway of a woman wanting to be seen, certainly that body calls for attention unwanted by its possessor. When approached she is more than not aggressive, that sensual way of hers not intentional but as with much of her; another thing caused by the fiendish blood. A warrior first, a social being second, when she does look at others it seems to be the males that catch her attention the most.


Background:

The old man was ancient and bearded, white hair and bushy eyebrows that held pale blue eyes. Those eyes had perceived much in their time, having lead his people for fifty years since his father died. This was the man that judged if a child was worthy life upon its birth. Many a time he had smiled and congratulated the parents before rewarding them with compliments and a blessing of long life and good fighting.
This was not such a time...

The child, a very thin limbed boy by the looks of it, bore unnatural hair and claws along with horns and a tail. A demon, the shaman had screamed and ran from the long-house. Cursed, other members of the tribe had muttered. They were a hardy folk, these northerners with long winters and much strife in the tundras. Yet sorcery and outsiders were treated with open hostility. The child was called Swartrhjart. "Blackheart". The mother was the youngest daughter of the old chieftain, the father was the blacksmith of the settlement. He sported fiery hair himself but not with such an intense colour of blood. One of the more travelled men had called the child tiefling but said little else. It was not human, as far as the blacksmith and his wife considered, and they wanted this stain on their honour gone. The chieftain, however, had other plans.

Rather than be considered a member of the tribe of northerners, the child was given to one of the slaves. The slaves themselves laboured in the harsh wilderness by doing whatever the tribespeople would not. Most were captives from raids to the far south and they treated the tiefling child with suspicion, but after all the young one was one of them. The first few years of the young one's life were as horrid as anyone can imagine. Not even the child's foster mother could bring herself to care more than the occasional closeness of a hug to bring warmth into frozen blue limbs. Blackheart's few memories of her childhood are of cold and loneliness.

As the tiefling grew, its body took the shape of a female. This was unexpected but attributed to her freak nature, nothing but spit and scorn was sent her way. Blackheart could not understand why, she knew she was different but she could not understand the hate. Hatred, on the other side, was easily tought to her. As she grew taller and stronger the tribesfolk stopped the worst of the treatment towards her, she was far too large for her age and had on more than one occasion bitten or scratched a fellow slave to bloody ruin for making a remark or mistreating her.

At the age of fifteen she was as tall as the tallest of the warriors in the settlement. Strong as an ox from physical labour and as violent as a bear with cubs. Soon enough the venerable old chieftain ordered her, for now they had come to see the tiefling as a woman with her body and especially her sizable bust, to become a hand-to-hand fighter. All for the pleasure of the tribe.
Placed opposite of other slaves who showed some physical prowess, Blackheart had never felt more at home. Her first fight was one she would never forget, the blood gushing from a torn throat and coating her face with sanguine liquid would colour her soul forever. However, her increasing skill in violence gave the tribesfolk a healthy dose of respect and soon she would spend her time in an iron cage with a collar about her neck. Any time they wanted her to fight the cage would open and her collar would be adorned with a chain to lead her to the muddy circle where they would try to see her dead.

This would go on for years until one day the chieftain died. Replacing him was the blacksmith, a man Blackheart only knew as Sven. Sven the Red. He came to her cage and made her an offer she could not refuse. He had fashioned some bits of plate to cover her shoulders and made a chainmail coat to cover her body. A spear was given to her along with a short sword and a round shield.

"They hate you. They hate you, these villagers I call my own. I call you Blackheart; will you fight for me and be considered more than slave, less than tribe?" His grim voice was a sweet melody and Blackheart swore a false promise to honour him. She laughed mentally and vowed to slit Sven's throat one day and taste his blood. A year later that promise was carried out.

It had been a raid on a temple far to the south and west on an island off the coast of Icewind Dale. With only priests and clergy to defend it, the temple had fallen after a short and brutal fight which left most of its defenders dead. Blackheart had watched the leader of the holy men soil himself and run from the visage of the fiendish amazon ripping a man's throat open with her hands. She had laughed as she ran after him, following the stink of his embarrasment. Just before she had brought her axe to his neck, he had uttered a single curse. "Nihilisticum", soulless. Blackheart had taken the head of the holy man, offered it to Sven when he arrived in the treasury and taken the opportunity as he reached out to grab the prize. Her axe flashed by and cut a red gash across Sven's throat, not quite severing the head but cutting just deep enough to register his horror and the last moments of his life as he fell to the ground. Like so many years ago her face was splashed with sanguine and she licked some of it, savouring the taste of her personal victory. She arranged the holy man's body with a relic sword dipped in Sven's blood before crying out in feigned rage and grief.
And they bought the whole story...

As the one to take vengeance on the holy man for cutting down their chieftain, Blackheart was given the honour of helping Sven's wife prepare his funeral pyre upon a small ship. His body was to be dressed in his finest garbs, a sword laid on his chest, then the ship would be set with wood and oil. The loyal wife would lay by the dead man's side and burn with him. It occured to her as she helped garb the dead man that he had a strange scar on his lower back, just where she had her tail... No one had ever told her.

That night she watched her mother burn without making a sound. The next day she was gone, and she would never return to her home.


____

I hope this is enough of a backstory to legitimate her gender!
Age of character is 36, by the way. Can't write 'everything' that's happened to her^^. Just her life's start.

/Nihil.


(Also, the edit was the info at the top)