Name: Lyria
Titles: Peace-Bane, The Scion of War, Doom of Esria
Age: 555
Gender: Female

Height: 6’2"
Weight: 180 lbs.
Build: Muscular

Appearance:
Lyria’s perhaps most striking feature is her apparent humanity. The casual observer most often sees a tall woman with unmistakeably human origin. Blonde shoulder-length hair and a face with distinct likeness to civilizations past makes her easy to fit in the race category. On closer inspection, however, that is where the similarities end. Her eyes roil with flames that twist and churn on her retinas. Her features are locked in an eternal frown of irritation or anger, a fine complement to her constant battle-readiness; always equipped with some form of armour and weaponry. Such equipment tends to change with the times, but it is always of grand quality, as though to show off.

Personality:
Lyria does not appear to have missed the fact that she looks more like a human than a proper devil, instead it seems to have impacted her two-fold. Firstly, her animosity for the world is hard to match, her irritable demeanour easily turning to anger, rage and defensive accusations. Her issues with her kindred are in ever increasing supply, and every reminder that she is different appears to drive her into further anger. Secondly, she heralds the human – and by extension, her own – form as the ultimate shape for war. She is adamant in her perceived superiority to a fault, and will defend her less-brutish form both in lengthy debate and violent duel. As a byproduct rather than any morality, she heralds humanity as valiant warriors and effective killing machines.

She is prone to bouts of rage, frustration and murderous intent. When she is not raging against the world, Lyria can be disturbingly cunning and pragmatic. As a scion of war, she is ultimately quite skilled and preferential to strategy. She enjoys outmaneuvering an opponent on the field of battle and logistics as much as she does destroying them on the battlefield. She considers diplomacy a wasted effort and negotiation a perversion of the natural order, but will paradoxically engage in it if it will bring her victory in the end.
She is never kind, but has been known to exalt warriors and soldiers who do well on the battlefield or at the strategist’s table – whether they are her own or the enemy’s. Impressing her is often the best way to remain on her good side.

Specialty:
Lyria is first and foremost a warrior and a commander. She can and will wade into the thick of battle and destroy countless hapless opponents. Through determination, brute force and tactics she will wear down and batter most opponents in due time. She is a fearsome enemy for mortals and demons both, and given the chance – devils. The harder an enemy fights, the more power and speed she appears to move with. She encapsulates strategy and the cunning of war in body and spirit, and can muster campaigns and conflicts that would be impossible to a mere layman.

Furthermore, the burning desire for conflict that she deifies is infectious. Her followers – devils and mortals alike with a passion for war – or subjugated into service – find themselves whipped into a blood rage that can only be stopped with total and absolute victory. Among mortals, her thirst for battle can be so empowering that allies turn on one-another, and armies dissolve into disorganized fighting pits and blood feasts – even after the enemy has quit the field. Likewise, her eye for strategy is corrupting, and any war council influenced by her will start eyeing possibilities that were previously morally wrong or treasonous.

Dominating Trait: War

Background:
Born to at least one human parent (or so the rumours say) in a region known then as Esria, Lyria quickly excelled in a martial career, rocketing her through the unprepared noblemen’s system. Though many throughout the years have expressed fear, disturbance and anguish caused by the woman, few rise to challenge her presence and continued climb wherever she goes.

For Esria, it first meant unparalelled success as the scion of war expanded their territory in every direction, subjugated folk wherever she went. The soldiers loved her, the coffers were full, the people saw luxuries unimaged. Then began the infighting, the pillaging, the unabashed slaughter of any who clung to a banner. A collective madness fell over the rich land, and what was a glorious union quickly fell into squabbling factions while the blood-crazed soldiers of the state turned on their superiors, their friends, and anyone else who was unfortunate enough to remain. When Esria turned to ash, the Scion of War had already moved on, with new campaigns and conquests on the horizon.

For centuries now, she has been a force as the tide or the wind. Powerful kings, devils, or simply just people of ’great’ character see her in the service for a time, as a mercenary queen, a general, or simply a powerful bodyguard. Most devils are loathe to keep her around for long, both because of her appearance and her endless animosity towards her own kind. She simply will not stop looking for reasons to fight someone, and most find the threat of rebellion, madness and death too great a price to keep her around for long. Those that benefit from her services find themselves victorious more often than not in whatever conflicts they were embroiled in, but are also left forever changed by the experience, whether that is brutality, loss of manpower, or dread.

Not so for Morelion. In rumour among the courts it is said he invited the Scion of War to his abode and bested her in single combat, earning her loyalty on a tenuous leash. Others yet say that he is paying her in some inscrutable way, with a payment that is as horrifying as it is hard to discern. Everything from eternal war to blood ritual bindings has been spoken of. Even still, some discerning devils note that ever since Lyria first associated with the the pale devil-lord, her assaults on the civilized worlds have petered off into surgical raids and disciplined drills, as civilized as devils can be. A call has gone out far and wide for hopeful battlemasters to join the greatest horde that will ever be. Of course, Lyria would not call her army anything else. But it appears that the Devil-Lord has managed to somehow leash the unruly warrior. Why, and how long, remain to be seen.

Name: Livia

Nicknames / Titles / Alias's: [Title] Court Herald, [Mockery]The-Star-In-Chains, Slavelight, Broken-sun

Age: Unknown, 125 in her current incarnation

Gender: Currently female

Height: 5’ 11”

Weight: Varies. Usually maintains a weight/density of 600lbs. Can crack granite with a hard strike of her heel.

Build: Lithe

Appearance: Her body is a constant crackling inferno. The outline of a body can be discerned underneath the constantly burning flames surrounding her, but it’s as constant as a burning log in any fire. You can stare at her for hours and not see any change in her appearance, but look away for a few minutes and look back to find parts of her have smouldered and burned away. Then look away again only to find she has rebuilt her dying embers and flares anew.

Miscellaneous Appearance Notes: The Brokensun constantly tries to maintain an appearance of calm, trying to live a role of decorum and protocol. When truly angered or allowed to unleash her full fury on the orders of her master, the burning light she emits is enough to permanently blind any mortal and many magical entities. It tires her considerably.

Personality: Livia lives by the code of the court. It is all she can cling on to at this point and still feel whole. She is precise. She is exacting. She accepts no excuses. Any supplicant wishing to approach her masters court and present a petition or grievance must observe all protocol or earn Livia’s ire. To the nameless subjects that live in her masters realm, she obliterates. To visiting dignitaries that are politically immune, she records their transgressions for future punishment.

Specialty: Politics. Court Procedure. Public executions.

Dominating Trait/Sin: Fury. Duty. Every slight against her or her master makes her burn with resentment and rage. Duty keeps it all in check until she is allowed to release it as her master wishes. If the fury is left building for too long… explosive behaviour may be inevitable…

Background:

Livia was a Living Star. The Light of the Morning. Her searing light had burned demons into nothingness in the forgotten wars of history. Livia had enjoyed the burning and did not want to stop, even when commanded. She had burned for a purpose and now she burned for herself.

Livia was incandescent. Livia founded one of the great devil cities. Livia was admired and loved and respected by all.

Livia was betrayed.

Livia was a being that reincarnated every few hundred years, always powerful. She’d been female, male and anything in-between, but always powerful. She’d ruled the devil city of Starfall since recorded history. Or, at least, the recorded history that most people were allowed to know.

Livia was powerful. Everyone knew. Livia was respected. Everyone knew. Livia ruled the greatest city of all devil-kind. Livia was vulnerable. Only her closest advisors knew.

When Livia went through one of her semi-millennial reincarnations, when she would burn into an incandescent light that seared into her a new personality but with all the old cruelty, ambition and objectives, she was betrayed. Her flaming rebirth was doused. Her traitor-advisors and false-friends employed great magics to prevent the Living Star from completing her reincarnation.

She was left crippled. Half a star. Left to seek refuge in the court of Morelion. Treated as an honoured guest.

She’d waited the long decades and centuries until her next reincarnation cycle when she could complete it successfully and regain her full might and power and burn out the sight of those that had betrayed her.

But she didn’t regain her power. She was even weaker than before. A shadow of a shadow of her former self. Her former friends-turned-enemies drew closer. Morelion had been happy to host an equal as a guest and offer his protection, but Livia was clearly no longer that. The only protection Morelion would now offer was that of an owner protecting his property. With a smouldering fury, Livia submitted as a slave to Morelion to preserve her existence.

She lives at his mercy, now deathly protective of his honor, if only because any slight to him is magnified on her a thousand-fold.

She will break her chains. She will gain her throne again. She will burn incandescent.

But for now, she serves.

People have called Drika many things over the years; evil, cruel, cold, and psychotic. But in reality, all those people were so far from the truth. Dirka has always hid who she was behind a maniacal and crazed mask of lies. She does this for fear of how people would treat the soft-spoken, kind-hearted, intelligent, wise and honorable woman that doesn't belong where she's at. She believes that survival should be at the front of her mind, not being true to herself.

Dirka prefers not to fight, rather making deals or favors. If that doesn't work, she'd have one of her abominable war-machines do it for her. To say she's harmless however would be stupid. She knows a great many spells and is well trained in the use of a scimitar. Her preferred tactic is to raise up on her spider legs and confuse her target while stabbing and slashing at weaknesses points to kill them as quickly as possible.



Dirka was born in Morelion's domain, with her mother and her uncle, Derdge. Her mother was head of the Carteson Guild, a guild for devil merchants and Craftsman sell their wares and assist in business ventures. Many of the members were greedy, except her mother and uncle. Her father had died long before she was born, so she only had them. Her mother was worried about her daughter's good-hearted nature, so she and Derdge taught her how to act as evil and cruel as possible. Dirka originally thought it a game, but when she acted innocent around a lower guild member, he grinned and found a blackmail opportunity. He grabbed Dirka when no one was looking and blackmailed her mother that he'd show her weakness if she didn't step down. In response, his head was removed in front of Dirka by Derdge, who immediately picked her up and warned her: "Crawler, deary...'Member 'dis moment. 'Dat's what happens when ya' don't act like 'da bad guy. So from no on, pretend you ain't you. Don't worre', you ain't in trouble."
After that, Dirka spent as much time around her mother and Derdge as possible. Her mother taught her much about business, and how dark magic always sweetened the deal. While with Derdge, she learned metalwork and how metal could be used for many things other than just weapons. But when ever he could, he would take her to the markets and help her practice being a opportunist in public, but a survivalist in private.
This lasted for about 200 years, before a small border dispute occurred between Morelion and another devil's domain. They being in a town rather close to the border, did not escape it's carnage. Dirka was taken and enslaved by a Noble of the other devil's domain, and she never saw her family for 121 years. While enslaved, Dirka was whipped several times by her master, each time being because she disobeyed. It was the first time she learned to truly hate. One night, when both were alone, he drunkenly ordered her to remove her clothes. She didn't, so he attempted to strike her. Instead, she impaled his arm with one of her spider legs, and he screamed in agony. She quickly ripped out his wind-pipe with her claws, and he went silent, but still held on to life. She tackled him and proceeded to rip him apart, slowly and painful.
When she was done, the room was red. All that remained of her former master was bones, blood, and torn fabric. She looked at her hands in disgust. She quickly wiped herself off and silently left the nobles home. After a few weeks of travel, she got back to her home city. It was rebuilt, but not as Grand as before. She quickly learned that the Carteson Guild moved closer to the capital, but still had a member there. She found this member who turned out to be her uncle. She found him hammering away on a sword, and noticed one of his horns were broken, his once dark hair was gray, and his massive bulk was now dangerously thin. He didn't stop till she greeted him with the sweetest voice he could. He immediately dropped the hammer and looked behind him. "...Crawler?..." He looked at her in awe. He was blind in one eye and the once mottled brown and orange skin was scarred. She immediately hugged him and cried. He simply held her and patted her head.
Once she got resettled, she became Dredge's Clerk and learned her mother had died in the raid. He never had the knack for business her mother had, and she clearly inherited it. After a year of her recovering, she started helping him get back in shape. She and Dredge sparred every day for two years there afterwards, and she maintained his health. He was old, but she got him to where he could do all he could and more. She had in the meantime re-established herself as a member of the Carteson guild, with her Uncle's help. After buying and establishing her own trading company and buying out the leader of the Carteson guild, she gained her mother's spot. She had everything she wanted, till she got an interesting invitation from Morelion himself.
In the audience, Morelion had claimed to have heard her tale and commended her for her prowess and ambition. She pretended to be prideful, but secretly she was filled with thoughts that this wouldn't go well. But he surprised her. He asked her to be an adviser of industry and economy. She was confused and baffled, and she was so stunned by the request that she fainted. When she came to, she blurted out yes, thus intertwining her fate with his.
She immediately regretted it.