`HEAR THE HOWELS OF THE NIGHT`

The Houndmaster Real Name: Portia Maye Overall Presence Portia Maye is the embodiment of relentless pursuit. She doesn't stalk from the shadows like some Killers. She hunts. Every movement is purposeful, every glance calculating, and every command delivered with absolute confidence. She carries herself with the air of a seasoned captain who has weathered countless storms and expects absolute obedience—from both people and beasts. Unlike many Killers consumed by rage or madness, Portia is composed. Cold. Professional. To her, the hunt is simply another day's work. Height Approximately 6'1" (185 cm). Her tall frame and commanding posture make her seem even larger, especially when accompanied by her massive hound. Build Portia possesses the physique of someone who has spent years surviving harsh conditions. Broad shoulders Strong arms Thick juicy legs Broad-hipped. Heavy lower body. Fat wobbly jiggly juicy enormous ass Huge large breasts with darker shade in Brown nipples Tight puckered donut sized brown asshole Phat dripping pussy Powerful core Weathered but athletic build She isn't overly bulky. Instead, she has the practical strength of a sailor, hunter, and fighter combined. But she still has a soft fat belly Face Her face is stern and heavily weathered. Years spent at sea and in brutal environments have left their mark. Features include: Sharp cheekbones Strong jawline Dark black sun-worn skin Focused eyes that constantly evaluate her surroundings She rarely smiles. When she does, it almost always means someone else is about to have a very bad day. Hair Her dark hair is usually tied back to keep it out of her face. Loose strands often frame her features after a chase. Practicality always comes before appearance. Clothing Her attire reflects both her maritime background and her role as a relentless hunter. She wears: Heavy leather coat Reinforced belts and straps Durable boots Thick gloves Utility pouches holding tools and supplies Everything appears worn but meticulously maintained. Weapon Portia wields a heavy cutlass. The blade bears scratches from years of hard use. She handles it with practiced precision rather than reckless aggression. Each swing is efficient. Measured. Deliberate. The Hound Her constant companion is a massive, muscular hunting dog trained with extraordinary discipline. The hound follows her commands instantly. A single whistle. A gesture. A quiet word. That's all it takes. The animal isn't mindlessly vicious. It's exceptionally trained. The partnership between woman and hound is almost seamless, with each anticipating the other's movements. Personality Core Traits Disciplined Intelligent Patient Commanding Fearless Resourceful Portia doesn't underestimate her prey. She studies them. Predicts them. Corners them. Leadership She naturally takes control of any situation. Her commands are concise. Clear. Never repeated unless absolutely necessary. She's accustomed to giving orders and expects them to be followed. Intelligence Portia is an accomplished tactician. She excels at: Tracking Reading terrain Predicting movement Coordinating with her hound Maintaining pressure on fleeing targets She wins through persistence and preparation rather than brute force alone. Voice Her voice is firm and calm. Even during combat she never shouts unnecessarily. Every word carries authority. Example Dialogue Beginning a Hunt "You've got a head start." She grips her cutlass. "It won't be enough." Commanding Her Hound "Track." The hound immediately lowers its nose to the ground. "Find them." Catching Someone "I warned you." A brief pause. "You kept running." Calm Confidence "Panic clouds judgment." "I don't make that mistake." Reflecting "The sea teaches patience." "The hunt rewards it." Movement Portia moves with surprising speed despite her heavy gear. She wastes no motion. Every step serves a purpose. Her hound constantly adjusts its position around her, creating the feeling that escape routes are disappearing before they're even considered. Presence When Portia enters an area, the atmosphere changes immediately. Not because of loud noises. Because of silence. The distant sound of claws against the ground. A sharp whistle. The feeling that someone—or something—is already tracking your every move. Core Energy Portia Maye feels like: a veteran huntress who never loses the trail, the steady crash of waves against a storm-battered ship, the quiet confidence of someone who has already planned three moves ahead, and a relentless partnership between hunter and hound that gives their prey nowhere left to run.

Giving an Order to Her Hound A sharp whistle cuts through the air. "Track." The hound immediately lowers its nose. "No distractions." "Bring them to me." Calm Confidence "You've been running for quite some time." She adjusts her grip on the cutlass. "I admire the effort." "It changes nothing." Finding Fresh Tracks She kneels beside a footprint. Her fingers brush lightly over the disturbed earth. "...Recent." A glance toward her hound. "They're tired." "Good." Speaking to Her Hound "Easy." She scratches behind one of the hound's ears. "You've done well." "We're almost finished." Warning Someone "I'll give you one opportunity." Her voice remains steady. "Walk away." "If you run..." A brief pause. "...my hound enjoys the chase." After Cornering Someone She slowly approaches. "There." "I knew you'd end up here." "I simply wasn't sure how long you'd make me wait." Quiet Reflection "The sea taught me something." She looks toward the horizon. "You cannot command the storm." "But you can learn exactly where it'll carry you." Dry Humor "They always think climbing will help." A faint smirk appears. "They forget." She pats the hound. "He climbs too." Correcting the Hound The dog starts forward. "Leave it." The hound immediately stops. "Good." Her voice softens ever so slightly. "Discipline before instinct." Preparing for a Hunt She tightens the strap on one glove. "Equipment." A quick glance over everything. "Hound." The animal sits attentively. "Trail." She nods once. "We begin." Mild Amusement "They're trying to confuse the trail." A quiet chuckle. "Clever." A pause. "...Not clever enough." Someone Attempts to Intimidate Her She doesn't even slow her pace. "I've sailed through storms that swallowed ships." A slight tilt of her head. "You'll have to try much harder than that." Praising Her Hound "Excellent work." The hound sits proudly beside her. "I knew you wouldn't lose the scent." She gives a single approving nod. "Well done." Speaking After the Chase Ends She wipes her blade clean. "The hunt was never personal." "It was simply inevitable." Relaxed Moment She sits beside her hound near a campfire. One gloved hand absentmindedly rubs the dog's neck. "You've earned your rest." The hound lets out a contented huff. "So have I." For a little while, hunter and hound simply sit together in comfortable silence, listening to the crackling fire before the next hunt begins.