Name: Analeigh Fitzroy
Nickname: None
Age: 25
Abnormality: Echowolf
In the spirit realm, which encompass realms such as the Dreamlands, Heaven, Hell, Valhalla, Fairy, and many more, there is a spreading land of Nightmare. It's the home of monsters and things that make you wake up screaming, and the ruling monsters of all are the Wolfsongs. Wolfsong is the noise that makes your hairs stand on end when you hear a lion roar or a wolf snarl. It is the reverberation deep in your soul that you know the monster is breathing down your neck and you have little chance to survive unless you run, fight, and earn your right to live. The fear and exhalation of a hunt, of the unknown, is both the Nightmare no one wants to face and the Nightmare that makes the good in the world taste that much sweeter. Nightmare is the force to make good worth fighting for. Without the Wolfsong, and without Nightmare, all joy is dulled until existence is as joyless as it is fearless. That is the Wolfsong's purpose, and that is why it prowls Nightmare and howls.

As fearsome as the Wolfsongs are, there is always something worse.

Nightmare has been changing, morphing into a slimy stench brought on by another force: the Wrongness. The Wrongness brought the Hunting Sound, who's sole design is to find and destroy the most fearsome monsters of Nightmare. Whenever the Wolfsong sings, Hunting Sound stalks it and kills it without mercy. It is the nothing after the fear. The emptiness that sucks away joy, too, because like shadow and light, joy cannot exist without fear.

The Wolfsong wants to live, though, and for thousands of years they crossed over on the full moon and join their souls with their brethren on this side of the veil. This is why wolves howl at the moon, and this is why their howls remind us, humans, that we were once prey. That once wolves were the fearsome predators that ruled the forests, and we aren't talking werewolves or dire wolves. Normal wolves, the ones who didn't sell out and call the humans their pack and scavenge scraps from their cooking pots. Dogs humans called them, but wolves and Wolfsongs curse them: traitors.

The world changed, and the humans and the traitors dominated the planet, fighting back against the packs of the wild by taking the wild away. Now wolves are relegated to sanctuaries, to compounds where scientists study them, to zoos were humans gawk at them, and the hunters display their pelts on their floors and beds to warm themselves with the skins of the wolves the humans once feared. Populations diminished as their land disappeared, and the dominion of wolves was over.

Then Wolfsongs struggled to find souls to join, and, as an echo of reality, the Hunting Sounds grew stronger and nearly annihilated Wolfsongs, just as humans did to wolves. One of the last Wolfsongs was desperate and wounded, and it joined the first soul it found, a hapless prey that wondered into Nightmare. One soul by the name of Analeigh Fitzroy. Only there's a reason the Wolfsongs bond with wolves and not mankind. Humans aren't the right conduit to a Wolfsong. They don't have the same drives and instincts as their once predators, and the Wolfsong is trapped half in her body and half in the spirit realm where the Hunting Sound can still harm it. It mustn't sing. The Hunting Sound will hear. No music. Not until it can fully cross over.

No matter what, the Wolfsong is determined to live, so it continues to press on this Analeigh's soul to shape her into a proper vessel.

This in-between, this split-soul, is known as the Echowolf.

Echoxwolf's powers and weaknesses are a mystery to Analeigh. What she can do will be updated as Analeigh and the rest of the cast discovers them in-game.

Abilities
Weresound: Otherwise known as Echowolf, Analeigh can transform into a wraith-like wolf that looks like rippling air, as if the sound itself were distorting reality around her. She is able to attack the living and move objects while in this spirit form, but it comes at the price of rational thought. She can't distinguish between friend or foe; instead, her instincts are to survive the Hunting Sound, eat, and to silence the noise that would draw the attention of the Hunting Sound. Because she is half in this realm and half in the spirit realm, she can also impact ghosts, wraiths, and other undead spirits who are likewise trapped in-between.

While in this form her speed, strength, stamina, and senses are all supernaturally enhanced to the point that even experienced vampires and werewolves would struggle to escape.

Weaknesses
Howl at the Moon: She always changes on the night of the full moon, and she's as likely to eat a friend as a rabbit when in this state.

Cheap Wardrobe: Analeigh's clothes get ripped to shreds every time she transforms. They don't transform with her.



Time With Archer (see BIO): Two months.
Theme song:
Analeigh Bad Dreams - Faouzia.https://youtu.be/Kq0XPWVe3AE
Wolfsong Change on the Rise - Avi Kaplain https://youtu.be/382BTxLNrow
Faceclaim: Claire Holt
Physical Description: Analeigh is a tall woman with a runner's build and shoulders broader than her hips. She's all lean muscle, but she wears flowing shirts and dresses to disguise her build. Most of her clothes have elastic bands instead of belts, and slip on shoes instead of sneakers, and her long blonde hair is wavy and well-groomed, even though there's often dirt beneath her fingernails. The only piece of jewelry she wears is a ribbon with a silver pendant that looks like a pocket watch, only it tracks the cycle of the moon instead of minutes and hours.

Distinguishing Features: Analeigh shares her soul with a predator, and the humans and other prey around her feel it on instinct, even if they don't know why. Their hair will stand on end, they'll get gooseflesh, they'll get defensive and aggressive, or however that person deals with fear. This same instinct does not happen with other predators; however, vampires and werewolves treat her warily, just as they naturally would when another predator comes into their territory.

What are some of your characters likes and dislikes?
Likes- Music, silence, ginger beer, a bed covered in rainbows and stuffed animals, and alarm clocks.
Dislikes- Alarm clocks, loud noises, random beeping noises, loud crowds, and gin. Seriously, she never understood why martinis were so popular.
Note: Alarm clocks being on both lists is on purpose. Analeigh likes them because they wake her up from nightmares. Wolfsong hates them because unnecessary and incessant noise.

Interesting facts not in rest of biography: She has a collection of French books and a CD. She keeps meaning to learn, but the books became fancy dust collectors and coasters. She's also that friend that reads every rule of a new game aloud to the group of friends and memorizes them before the practice round is over.

Worst Fears:
Analeigh's: Eating her friends.
Wolfsong's: Being the last of its kind.



History:
Analeigh loved numbers. She had ever since she learned 1, 2, 3. Numbers had rules that simply weren't broken. Numbers had problems, and the problem's solution was either right or wrong. There was no ambiguity. No gray area, and certainly no influence of nightmares, human or otherwise. There was always an answer if you knew where to look.

You see, Analeigh was one of those children plagued with nightmares, which later developed into sleep terrors, but there was no discernible reason. She had a positive home life, played a lot outside, had friends in and outside of school, and kept her nose out of trouble. There was no reason for her to have such trouble sleeping. They weren't even magical dreams, just plain old vanilla nightmares. When sleep frightened her and the world didn't make sense, Analeigh turned to math, and later physics, because they always made sense. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. It's logical, and didn't account for little girls with good lives being afraid of the dark. Because she couldn't just have bad luck. There should be an equation that just needed balancing.

Right?

She avoided books, movies, and video games to prevent weird dreams, and spent most of her time playing sports, as sports are games with strict rules, and burying herself in numbers. She joined the track team and the cross country teams in college and competed in high and long jump. The sports were so physically and mentally demanding that she stopped dreaming at all for a time.

She took a year off college when she was twenty-one to train for the Rio 2016 Olympics in Colorado. She qualified, marched with her fellow athletes in the opening ceremonies.

She choked.

"Runners take your mark." Analeigh knelt with her feat against the blocks, hands tented, and she stared at the ground. "Set" Analeigh lifted her knees and looked down the track. And the crowd, holding its breath. "Crack," The gun went off. All ten runners pushed against their blocks, which rattled from the force. Analeigh took one step, then two, then-

Her foot caught on the track, and she fell, face down in the track, and by the time she got up every runner already crossed the finish line. That was the biggest race of her life, and she tripped out of the blocks. She'd used them for years and years, but when it really mattered, she tripped. She choked.

Analeigh came home and went back to college, only to find the nightmares were back. She graduated with a degree in physics, and went to live with a long-time boyfriend in New Orleans while completing her doctorate applications. In the meantime she started working as a cocktail waitress in the French Quarter, and secretly started running on her own. Maybe, just maybe, she could qualify for the next Olympics, and maybe redeem herself.

After all, training is just a matter of discipline and numbers. Athletes follow a formula. Do this exercise, eat these foods and not one bite more, wear these shoes, and rest on this day. See? Formula. The numbers don't lie.

Don't they?

Analeigh broke up with her boyfriend, more because the relationship felt stale and her night terrors and nightmares kept him from sleeping well. They bickered and fought about rent, about socks left on the floor, about who did the dishes last, and about his gatorade habit. Eventually Analeigh moved into an apartment with friends, and the two haven't seen each other since. She started donating blood to offset some of the moving costs. When she filled out the initial paperwork, she had to write down sleep disturbances and where she heard about the blood drive.

She meant to write a "friend" but wrote "fiend" by accident.

From there, one of the blood drive nurses with "Candice" on her nametag asked her about her sleep problems and offered her to join a new clinical trial for a new therapy for people with chronic nightmares. They paid, and all she had to do was sleep in a lab once a week. Analeigh needed to buy a new mattress (because her ex kept their's) and agreed. What's the worst that can happen?

The drug they gave her was strange. It was a liquid and smelled like cut grass and gasoline, but the strangest part was her sleep. Instead of easing her nightmares, they became more vivid, more tangible, and she woke up with this constant feeling that they weren't really nightmares at all but she couldn't place her finger on why. She told Candice how the treatments weren't working. At first the nurse encouraged her to face the nightmares and try to control them. "The monsters can't hurt you if you believe they can't." After a month, Analeigh was taking anything to keep from sleeping, for fear of going to that place again. She went to the clinic to collect her final paycheck and quit the trial, but the nurse convinced her to do go through just one more test. Analeigh wished she hadn't agreed, but she was so strung out and desperate that she agreed. One last time.

She stood in Nightmare and looked around at the howling world and leafless trees like skeletons sharpened to spear points. There was something coming. "The monsters can't hurt me." It howled. Pure terror raced through her. "You can't hurt me!" But Analeigh ran, ran faster than she ever ran before. "You can't hurt-" A tree branch unfurled and tripped her. She fell to a puddle of rotted sludge, the substance she later called the Wrongness. She looked up, and there was man standing there wearing a broken crown and blood-shot eyes. The odd part? His face was clear, but that wasn't right. You never saw faces in dreams-

The howling fell on her, engulfed her in terror and song as it tore into the flesh. It ripped at shirt, skin, and muscle. Her ribs cracked and it howled in fear at her exposed heart. "You can't hurt me," she lied. She watched as the sound ate her heart. Blood dripping from shadow and rippling sound, it threw its howl back and sang at the moon. Hope. It sounded like hope. She woke up with a start, screaming the same note.

She left the clinic and didn't stop for the last paycheck and ran. She didn't stop running until her legs collapsed. A stranger found her and called an ambulance, and the EMT commented how he wasn't surprised she had a mental break on the full moon. Ask any first responder or ER worker; the full moon is the busiest time of the month.

She hadn't really recovered a month later, though there was no physical scar she could see, but she went back to work in the French Quarter anyway just to make rent. The music and dancing never used to bother her, but it was almost insufferable that month. "I just need a vacation," she said to her roommates when they came to visit her at work.

It was the night of the full moon, and her roommates agreed to sit in the cocktail lounge all night in case she needed encouragement, or a ride home. There was this new musician that played the saxophone, and she complained to her roommates that she wanted to smash his brass just for some quiet. One roommate offered a couple aleve for a headache, but an hour later the anger, the urge to silence the music, was more than she could stand. "I'm going on break," she spat at her manager and threw down her apron. Then the nurse walked into the lounge. Candice. The one who put her through that nightmare. She fixed her gaze on the woman and prowled to follow as anger swelled in her. Then all the musicians went silent, all save the saxophone.

Everything went black.<img src="http://www.paulinaserafina.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/Wolf-Moon-Full-Moon-in-Leo.jpg"align=left>

When Analeigh came to, she was huddled naked in a back alley half way across town with blood on her hands, feet, chin, and lines dripping down her chest. Sirens blared in the distance, and a reporter and camera crew stood around the corner and out of sight of the naked woman. "It's absolute chaos here, Stan. Eyewitnesses say it all happened too fast to know what happened, but patrons of the cocktail lounge were enjoying the music when something yelled and started eating them. EMTs are worried about infection from a human bite. Authorities have confirmed twenty three dead and twenty more in critical condition, one of them being Candice Smith, the former psychiatric nurse who was fired from the hospital two days ago. The five were allegedly conducting inhumane research on patients under the guise of a clinical trial.

"One of the prime suspects was cocktail waitress Analeigh Fitzroy. One of the survivors confirmed Fitzroy was a volunteer for the same illegal clinical trial Candice Smith worked. The woman was seen fleeing the French Quarter naked and covered in blood, and police are searching for her for questioning. If you see this woman, call 911 immediately."

Analeigh panicked and fled New Orleans until she found a little used hiking trail.

Archer found her in the woodlands late at night two weeks later, and brought her to the mansion. He said he was glad he found her before the Somnum Exterri did. Or the police.

It's been two months, and Analeigh is trying to find a formula. There has to be a formula.

There has to be a formula.

No matter is created or destroyed. It is simply rearranged.

There has to be a formula.

Every object at rest will remain at rest. Every object in motion will remain in motion unless acted upon by an outside force.

There must be a formula.

Force = Mass x Acceleration

There must be a formula.

Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.

There must be a formula.

There must be.



Help.