Faith Salubria –The Tank
She’s not much of an imposing figure at only five foot eight, nor is she exactly a people person as she’s known to sequester herself away to her quarters in the Clan Halls, but she’s the driving force -and the arrowhead- to almost any of the Clan’s actions. Charismatic, commanding, and strategic, anything thrown her way she absorbs like a sponge, keeping the focus of her opponents to allow her Clan time to pull together and take them down. She’s known to hold a hand to her stomach, though only the closest of her Clanmates know why.
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Once she had a family, living in a small village just outside of Nottingham. She was a quiet youth, not getting into trouble so much as simply being bullied pointlessly. She was the youngest of four pups, the only daughter to be born in her household; the beloved daughter of a royal guard for the Earl himself. She only had want of peace and quiet, to have some peace to herself and succeed in her schooling. She was… not exactly the most popular child in her village as even her elder siblings bullied her relentlessly. To most others she was a joke, only her parents seeming to show any care and love for her. Her body was flimsy and frail, prone to disease; her red eye colour thought to be a sign of greatness yet another joke to throw at her. She was born a runt; her destined for greatness when she was the weakest of a litter?
It seemed some sort of cruel joke from an uncaring god.

Her father, always thinking of his little girl, had saved up spare coin for the better part of three years to hire a druid to cast enhancing magic on her; to grant her the height she had been denied, to give her protection. The druid had shown up and cast the magic, but it seemed to have no effect until the powerful spell caster inspected her magical aura.
What he saw astonished had him.

She had simply absorbed the spells, and they had been amplified almost tenfold within her. The spell to grant her height had been consumed by the protection enchantment, making her more durable than any adult to the point that she would be able to almost shrug off cannonballs. Other than healing magic, it was doubtful that any other magic would have much beneficial effect on her, as the protection spell had made her all but immune to them.
Though displeased that she had not grown any size, her father was at least thankful that his daughter would be spared from any further pain and paid the druid before sending him on his way.

The next two weeks or so were less painful than usual for the young canine. Bullying struck as hard as ever, but now any physical punishment that was thrown her way felt like she was being pushed and not punched or kicked. If she didn’t want to move when tackled, she wouldn’t. She felt like she had become virtually invincible.

News spread through the village one Monday, the Sheriff and Prince John had taken control of Nottingham without the King’s notice or permission and had declared Martial Law. The Earl, who attempted to send word to the King about this mutinous behaviour, had been declared an outlaw, and anyone siding with him would face the same fate.

That night, when her father returned home from his post, a knock sounded at the door. Her father opened the door to see who could have possibly been at their home at such a late time of night, and received a sword through his torso.
Sir Guy, the Sheriff’s right hand man, had arrived.
He declared the family to be outlaws, spreading despondency by siding with the Earl, and commanded his men to kill them all.
Faith’s mother did not fare long, scrambling to get her children to safety. Her brothers only managed to survive a little while longer by hiding in closets until discovered. It finally seemed like Faith’s turn to die; a deputy grabbed her and thrust his sword into her gut.
Faith expected pain.
She didn’t expect rage.

In the blink of an eye she grabbed the deputy’s spare knife and rammed it through his throat. He died with a pitiful gurgle, and Faith pulled his sword back out of her gut and barely managed to parry the second deputy’s own. Something within her, a dam of some form, broke and her body glimmered with power. Her strength quadrupled, and her next parry turned into a hit so strong that the deputy’s sword shattered in his hand. The sword she held found itself buried through his spine, and she flung the stolen knife towards Sir Guy, who barely dodged the flying blade before urging his horse on and fleeing, leaving her in the bloodbath that was her family.

She survived her injury; the Druid, now identifying himself as Friar Tuck, had hurried to her home and healed her as best he could. Despite his efforts, he could not revive her family, instead using his powers to give them quick and respectful burials beneath her home. She didn’t spend long mourning; using what her family left to gain passage to Camelot where she acquired a home, a job as a maid, and training under the best warrior trainers the city had to offer, eventually becoming a Squire and then a mercenary for hire before beginning her Clan with two friends she had made during her training; Katarina Dewill, a now highly respectable Druid healer herself, and Vincent Tarrbrock, an impressively powerful –yet somewhat dangerously easy to provoke- mage. She only left Friar Tuck with one request, to get word to the Earl and to tell him…
If he didn’t kill the Prince and his co-conspirators, then she would.