View difference between Paste ID: 2aBj1hr3 and JiWFjJZ2

-Name:
+Name: Cassandra
 Age: 32
-Age:
+Race: Human Dhampir
 Religious Beliefs: Natina
-Race:
+Appearance
 	5'10", athletic build, olive skin. Her body is riddled with scars of varying sizes, the largest being a lengthy slash down her back, about 16 inches long. Other notable scars are a large star-shaped scar over her faded right eye, half a dozen or so puncture marks in her shoulders, and a decently large, faded gash down her left side.
-Appearance:
+	Her eyes were once amber, but from a mixture of damage and time, her right eye has faded to nearly the same color as sand. Her black hair barely reaches her chin, and on the left side is shaved to reveal the symbol of Natina that is tattooed there.
 
-Religious Beliefs:
+Equipment
 	Silver Sabre
-Homeland:
+	Hand Crossbow
 	Hooded Leather Armor
-Equipment:
+Other items
 	Holy Symbol of Natina
-Other items:
+	40 ft. Rope
 	Notebook and charcoal (for performing the Rites of Life)
-Magic/Miracles:
+Currency
 	50 gold
 
 Skills:
 	Swordplay 	III
 	Archery 	II
 	Evasion 	II
 	Dancing 	I
--------------------------
+	Hunting 	I
 	Religion 	I
-Skills: Your character is allowed to spend up to 9 points in several professions, but no more than three points. Negotiate with the DM if for some reason you feel the need to go above three.
+
 Miracles
-Skills are essentially: "What is your character good at?" Example: Sword fighting, Brawling, Poetry, Climbing...etc.
+	Rites of Life: Cassandra earns favor with her goddess when she writes the names of those who are born and die each day. She must burn these notes or send them up a stream at the end of each day.
 	Ashes to Ashes: With a touch and a whisper, Cassandra can turn a long-dead corpse to black ashes so it cannot be raised.
 
 Homeland: Almura
 Background:
 	In Cassandra's village, Greenhill, her family lived a quaint life. Her father was a guard, and her mother was a handmaiden. They lived at the edge of town in the family home, the first building you'd see on your way into town. She was raised alongside her brother, a boy named Erick. At the young age of eight, she was in training to be a dancer in one of the royal troupes, touring the countryside alongside other performers for nobles and townspeople alike.
 	One day, while playing in the woods with her brother, she stumbled upon a haggard, crazed man, draped in nothing but a cloak. He chased her and her brother through the woods until finally cutting them off at the edge of the forest. He sunk his fangs into Cassandra's neck, but before he could so much as taste her blood, her father lopped his head off.
 	The two children, safe and sound, were brought back home to recover from their ordeal. Over the next month or so, Cassandra grew weak. She wouldn't eat, she grew gaunt and pale, and night terrors overwhelmed her small body. She rarely ever got out of bed, and she stopped speaking to anyone except her brother. Her parents kept her bed nearby, so her mother could wash the girl's face with a wet rag when she began thrashing.
 	In the middle of a dark night, moonlight pouring through the open window, Cassandra finally snapped. Her night terrors tore her to pieces, and she was thrown into hysterics. She brandished a kitchen knife to her mother and father, who were backed against the wall. She shouted in pain and agony and knew nothing that would calm her rage and fear.
 	Her brother threw himself upon her, trying to smother the affliction with as much love as he could muster and it worked. The two laid on the floor, her eyes wide and body shaking as he held her to the floorboards.
 	As her parents grew closer to investigate, her brother crumpled off of her, a chunk of flesh held tightly between her teeth. Blood leaked down her face, and her pupils were pinpricks in her bloodshot eyes. They had no choice. They took Cassandra deep into the woods, blindfolded and wrapped tightly in dozens of sheets so her thrashing would accomplish nothing.
 	They abandoned her deep in the woods, the transformation overwhelming her body. She tore the sheets and blankets to shreds as she escaped and sat on her hands and knees, her brother's dried blood clinging to her lips and hands. She looked over the stains with wide-eyes, her mind's screeches becoming the hums of cognizance. The reality of her actions dawned on her.
 	It was then that she broke.
 	She sank her face into the dirt, sobbing and crying out for forgiveness. She cried out to any god she knew the name of, she called out for her mother and father, she called for her brother. Her words struck the night air and were met with silence.
 	She laid in the woods for three days, fighting the infection in her body with every ounce of willpower she had. It wasn't until the third dusk, crumpled and curled beneath an oak tree, her voice hoarse and raspy, that she was met with an answer.
 	She called out one last time, her vision blurry and her body failing. And in her fading vision, she saw an angel. They scooped her up and led her into the woods. They gave her water cupped in their divine hands. They led her to wolfsbane and silver coins. They dug holy silver into her sternum.
 	The sip of holiest waters felt like fire in Cassandra's lungs, but she drank in desperation.
 	The flowers and coins burned at her very flesh but she clutched them tight until the blisters were so numb with pain she could ignore them.
 	The holy symbol pierced her chest like it was butter, but clung to her bones like it was meant to be there.
 	The angel then led her atop a small hill, where the sun began bathing the land in its light. She clutched her eyes shut, expecting it to tear her flesh away and finally end her torment.
 	But it was then she was met with a vision, and while her flesh ached, it did not crumble. She knew her purpose at that very second, and with the angel's help, she trained for everything she knew she had to be.
 
 	She trained to kill her newest kin.