The Lark

[liveonthestage]

RPG: Super Heroes

Real name: Eponine Thernadier

Super identity: The Lark, L'Alouette ('The Lark' in French)

Age: 20

Powers: Eponine's voice sings a sad song, a song that can hypnotize and manipulate it's listener to feel any emotion, think any thought, which she desires. There is something about her song that entices it's listener to stay because their hearts break for the singer and they wish to do whatever they can for her. In this way she is able to lure in an manipulate those around her for her own gains.

Appearance: Eponine has a soft, sweet, endearing face that can change within a split second to reveal her anger. She has long, silky red hair that falls to her shoulders and is usually seen wearing a black hooded cloak. Her eyes are a soft, deep green that can captivate those who look upon them.

Story: As a young child growing up in France, Eponine knew no hardships. Her father, a rich aristocrat, watched over her and her mother from a distance; he was usually at the statehouse or some other place, making political decisions. Nevertheless, Eponine longed for nothing, and felt the love of both of her parents strongly.

One dark day, however, Eponine arrived home from school to an empty house. She could find no one except for a young servant boy, about her age, and he told her what had happened. Men, he said, dressed in dark, had entered the house and taken everyone in it outside into the back woods. He had just been lucky enough to hide in one of the cabinets. While hiding, he heard shouts, screams, and gunshots. Everyone had been killed.

The two fled the house together, seeking a safe place to hide. They were discovered, however, and Eponine and her young friend, all she had left, were seperated, and she never saw him again. No matter how much she asked her captors what had become of him, they wouldn't tell.

They performed experiments on her, injecting her with shots of who-knows-what and subjecting her to hours of tests formulated to break her and make her into what they wanted her to be, and though she escaped when she was older and despised them for everything they had done, she knew they had won; they had succeded in making her 'The Lark'

Eponine wanted most to avenge the death of her family and loved ones, and to find out what had happened to the young boy she had grown so close to. Had he suffered the same fate as she?

So, nevertheless, Eponine disembarked on an adventure of her own, with her mind full of anger, to find the answers to her questions, using her powers to do so.

 

[liveonthestage]

Eponine's Song

O A ERRE et l'alouette errante, le petit oiseau, Comment tristement par mon dost de prison tu chantez ! Dost tu vous
lamentez parce que ton le camarade charmant t'est parti, et peut réconforter rien amène d'autre ?

Avoir de la peine, alors, comme moi ! Pourtant tu l'art chanceux, trois fois chanceux, pour tu la mouche de
canst loin, le Déménagement par les vallées et à travers les collines Sur ton les ailes rapides, unstayed par
le boulon ou barre.

Mais ici le soleil lui-même avec le rayon blême A ma prison sombre ne peut pas pénétrer ; Aucune brise légère
souffle ici pour porter ma voix A ma chere une, disant de mon sort.

Au moins tu goest pour trouver mon puits bien-aimé. Oh, rapidement la fléchette ! Mais alors le retour une fois plus près de me,
l'infortuné l'un, et tarder ici, l'alouette de O, tarder jusqu'à ce que cette nuit est o’er.

Rester ici ce soir et observer ma mort triste, Et, gazouillant o’er ma tombe avec la goutte de rosée se
mouille, tu Fait, au moins, l'oiseau de O, me rappelez— me Rappèle, et porter le deuil, et ne’er oublie !


English:

O STRAYED and wandering lark, little bird,
How sadly by my prison dost thou sing!
Dost thou lament because thy lovely mate
Has left thee, and naught else can comfort bring?

Grieve, then, like me! Yet thou art fortunate,
Thrice fortunate, for thou canst fly afar,
Flit through the valleys and across the hills
On thy swift wings, unstayed by bolt or bar.

But here the sun itself with pallid ray
To my dark prison cannot penetrate;
No gentle breeze blows here to bear my voice
Unto my dear ones, telling of my fate.

At least thou goest to find my well beloved.
Oh, swiftly dart! But then return once more
Near me, the wretched one, and tarry here,
O lark, tarry till this night be o’er.

Stay here to-night and witness my sad death,
And, twittering o’er my grave with dew-drops wet,
Do thou, at least, O bird, remember me—
Remember me, and mourn, and ne’er forget!