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[CHAR] B l e a k C e n t a u r i
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Aeolian Proud Fujoshi
Member
Seen
44 min ago
P R E S E N C E
Due to her upbringing, Eve has a rather motherly, nurturing, and gentle disposition, which parallels her delicate and soft appearance. A wallflower through and through, her role as a Funérailles is incredibly important to her and she has a deep appreciation and connection with life and death and feels that both are very sacred and should not be dishonoured or diminished. She is saddened by the cruelty of the world and her heart weighs heavily with the pain of others. She sometimes has a despondent countenance due to her empathy for the suffering of others and hopes that through her role as a Funérailles, she can bring peace to their hearts and minds.
Because Funérailles are so rare, her role is very precious to the Oakridge citizens, who admire and are grateful for the work that she does in bringing honour and repose to their deceased love ones. Because of her role as the only Funérailles in the city, they colloquially refer to her as "The Angel of Oakridge".
Eve has a really pretty singing voice, a talent she supposedly gained from her mother. She can regularly be found humming or singing the songs of her island. Eve is notoriously stubborn when it comes to her beliefs and it can be incredibly difficult to dissuade her once she's set her mind to do something. She continues to think dearly of her imprisoned mother and father, who her grandparents told her many wonderful and lovely stories about. Especially her mother, who she reflects on fondly, and often cites her based on the knowledge she gained from her grandparents. She wants to use her power for good and to help people, like her mother did.
C H R O N I C L E
Death is a fascinating phenomenon. The one and only thing that is guaranteed in this world. It's all around us even when we may not notice it. Each day that passes, it beckons for us, sings it's siren song to drag us into the depths. And there are those in this world who come face to face with it. These people are what this world calls, Funérailles. The role of a Funérailles is a peculiar profession and those who become one don't usually live their lives hoping to be such. For most, it chose them. The Funérailles oversee and perform a cultural custom called Mer de rêves (The Sea of Dreams).
"There is nothing more honourable in this world than a proper burial."
Most Funérailles live their entire lives in isolation on very small islands, most of which have fallen under Union jurisdiction due to their superior technology and military power. And aside from the regular Union operatives who sentinel these small islands, a Funérailles interactions usually only occur when people from the mainland bring them the dead bodies of their loved ones, escorted by Union operatives of course. Upon being brought the dead, a Funérailles will perform the funeral rites or Mer de rêves on the body and bury the body at sea, along with a Mementeau, an object that represents that individuals life and dreams. And in the act of burying the body with the Mementau, that person's soul can finally find peace now that their dreams have been released to the sea.
"Freed...from the chaos..."
These underwater burials originated from the Old Religion of the Neutral Zones and were closely tied to the Festival of the Quiet. Now that most of these islands have been conquered and fallen under the jurisdiction of the Unions, the religious aspect of them have been completely removed due to Unions not allowing religious worship. To have a loved one's remains cast to the depths of the sea by a Funérailles continues to be a great honour and way of showing respect to the dead for citizens of Union cities. Overlord and the Union elites understand the value and significance of such a custom and only allow it to citizens who have a clean record and haven't caused any trouble for the Union leaders. They see it as a way of controlling the masses. People are less likely to misbehave if they know they will lose this valued privilege, which to the Unions, Mer de rêves is a privilege that must be earned. It is much more honorable than having your loved ones body thrown into a giant heat vac and burned with hundreds of other random bodies.
"We must do what we can to preserve the humanity of people, even for the dead".
Eve was born on one of these such islands, her parents having been jailed during the failed defense of their island against the much more militarily superior Union. Eve was very young when this occurred(so she has little to no memories of her parents, who are still in prison) and has lived with her grandparents thereafter, being forced like all the other remaining islanders into mandatory Union military training camps. She began performing Mer de rêves at the age of 10 since the role had been passed down to her by her grandmother. You can only become an official Funérailles if the teachings were directly taught and passed down to you by another Funérailles, hence why it is such an uncommon profession you can't just simply go to school for.
"I never chose to be a Funérailles. It chose me. And I will continue to do what I must with dignity and respect, if only for those who can no longer do so for themselves. That is the only reason why I am here".
A Funérailles can be identified by the "Mark of the Funérailles", which is a pair of symbols engraved into the palms of their hands by a much more experienced Funérailles. At age 17, the Union Leaders relocated Eve to Oakridge city and housed her in a small compound by a large old lake on the outskirts of the city so she could continue to perform the Mer de rêves from a much more accessible and on-site location. This is where she has remained since, under the watchful eye of Union Protectors, performing Mer de rêves for the Oakridge inner city folk. She's never been to the inner city herself since the Union leaders have prohibited her from leaving the Lake Compound.
M E M O R I E S
Dr. Volovodov is of the Union Elites and one of the regular residents of the compound where the Eve reside. She is an inhumane woman who is a scientist by trade. She has no qualms about experimenting on people, even her own child. Dr. Volovodov experimented on her son, resulting in his disfigurement, and once had a daughter, but she died from a failed experiment. This experience made her very cruel. She's got secrets of her own and an ultimate plan. She performs various Union funded experiments in the sub-levels of the compound in her laboratory, many of which experiments have resulted in the death of people. Eve has had to bury many of those said experiments at the bottom of the lake. Dr. Volovodov cares more about her research and experiments than the humanity of other people. She and Eve have a very special distaste for one another. Eve finds her work despicable.
Dimitri is the son of Dr. Volovodov and when he was a young boy, she began performing many experiments on him, resulting in his body being disfigured and altered, but he also gained enhanced strength due to such alterations of his body. He does her dirty work and acts as her right hand man. He has killed more people than you could possibly count. Dimitri is kind of aggressive most would say. He has a bit of an attitude problem, is easy to anger, and broods occasionally. He resents his mother for the death of his sister and has been trying to find a way to put an end to her experiments on Oakridge citizens. Dimitri only shows a softer and gentler side when he is around Eve and is extremely overprotective of her. Dimitri is one of the only people that Eve feels like she can fully trust.
Marcus is a transporter for Oakridge City who travels to different parts of the city transporting different things based on the clients needs. This is his legal work, but he is secretly a member of the resistance and a skilled smuggler of Neutral Zone goods that are often banned in the Union. He regularly transports goods to Eve for her burials and they became close confidants when Eve performed Mer de rêves for the passing of Marcus' great-grandmother. He's got a charming smile and a big personality, which juxtaposes his semi-friendly rivalry with Dimitri, much to the chagrin of Eve who is smacked dab in the middle of this rivalry. Though really, this is just Marcus trolling Dimitri since he is bemused by the other's aggressive personality and is well aware of how possessive Dimitri is of Eve. Marcus has a girlfriend and two young children.
A E S I R
Thanks to Siren, Eve's singing voice has a hypnotic quality, allowing her singing to lure people to her or lull them to sleep. She can use this in combination with his combat techniques(Reflect-Barrier, Wave, and Orb). She is also moderately adapt in the art of healing as well.
However, it should be noted that Eve's fighting capabilities are only adept in theory. Due to the nature and unique circumstances of her life, she has not had any real-life applications of the combat knowledge she learned from the Union training camp or from the techniques she was taught by her Aeon.
~ Siren came to her when she performed Mer de rêves for the first time. They've been inseparable since and have a sweet and affectionate mother-daughter type of bond whenever they interact. ~
rabidbacon Determinator
Member
Seen
6 hrs ago
Vogel Pierce V
◄ 28 ▎ MALE ▎ 5'7 ►
◄ 28 ▎ MALE ▎ 5'7 ►
P R E S E N C E
Ever since he was a little boy, Vogel thought he was going to become a soldier. His namesakes were all militia men, born and bred with fingers already twitching to pull all the triggers, and whose first cries were probably already marching orders, executing orders on behalf of the great corporation that is the Union. But as fate would have it, the young Pierce's father died before he was born. Primarily raised by his mother and in the company of his three younger sisters, he drifted away from the well-worn path tread by the Pierce clan and took after his mother's as soon as he finished the required military civilian training. Being a restorateur and cultural ambassador, his mother effortlessly taught her young son the basics of the culinary and hospitality arts, then decided to let the boy find his own way when he started showing signs of restlessness and an eagerness to make his name in the world.
Vogel enrolled in Oakridge's top culinary institution, then summarily graduated to the top of his class after starting three successful restaurant chains, as well as one peculiar, yet critically acclaimed bar. To broaden the menu selections and drink ingredients, as well as refine and educate his palate, Vogel traveled the three Unions frequently despite the threat of war. Vogel is generally uninterested but informed in military affairs, knowledgeable about politics, culture and trade and has used his connections and charm to further his own commercial agendas and has also used them to damn malicious rivals into financial ruin - perhaps even driving others to suicide out of despair.
He is often found at his bar, manning the counter himself, entertaining the customers and serving up drinks that have been said to refresh both the body and soul of those who imbibe - this has sparked rumors of strange, addictive and illegal substances being mixed into the drinks. Vogel neither confirms or denies the rumors, and the people come all the same, always hungry and thirsty for more.
Despite his financial status, Vogel rarely spends on luxury services and prefers living a simple and predictable life. He is also very protective and caring of his three younger sisters, all who, ironically, aim to be high-ranking military officers in the Union, and sends them food he made himself whenever he is able, as well as using his influence and charisma to speed up their promotion and increase their resources without their knowledge in an effort to minimize their contact with bloodshed.
Vogel hopes to use his status and knowledge to bring people together and help end the war, often making anonymous donations and visits to war victims, the neutrally aligned communities as well as bribing politicians on the brink of war to postpone their decisions or choose a lesser evil.
C H R O N I C L E
Vogel gives his first customer of the evening a coaster as he prepares to make him a drink. The man smiles, the skin around his eyes crinkling, and revealing his age.
"Are you the guy?"
Vogel nods and gets straight to work.
Soft music plays in the background, something ancient and jazzy, as he breaks ice the old way. Sharp chunks of crystal blue ice makes its way into a pristine whiskey glass, to which Vogel pours a bright green fluid, which hisses and glows as it flows down into the ice.
Then, with a well-practiced smile, he serves the beverage with a soft clunk on top of the coaster. The thin metal tray rattles on the bedside table with an unsettling clink, and pills of various sizes roll out of the way.
"Fairy, Number #08af2d."
The man admires the drink; Vogel can almost imagine the pictures he has taken with his eyes and scattered all over the network. Probably not as perfect as the professionals, but still publicity all the same.
"Hits the spot, guy," the man says, voice husky after a sip - not the smoothest drink in the bar. Blood blooms bright through his soiled bandages, and a rusty smell leaks out as the man shifts his mangled torso.
Vogel stood, watching the old soldier die with a grin on his face, and wondered if his father would have liked absinthe, too.
M E M O R I E S
Vogel Pierce IV: The father Vogel never knew, except through second-hand accounts of family friends, his mother and the old commander's journals. He sometimes wishes he were as strong as his father, but is happy that the man's death enabled him to begin a new path without conflict.
Cybil Watanabe-Pierce: Vogel loves his mother dearly and maintains a warm relationship with her. They make frequent public appearances when opening new restaurants or visiting other Unions on official matters.
Beatrix Pierce: The eldest of the Pierce sisters. She is currently serving in the military as an intelligence agent and weapons AI designer, and is married to an engineer. Vogel respects her opinions greatly and often goes to her when he is having problems.
Iris Pierce: The middle Pierce sister. She works as a trainer in the military. Vogel is least close to her due to a difference in political opinion, but they still maintain a civility towards each other.
Tiffany Pierce: The youngest Pierce sister. She is still in university, but is planning to follow in the footsteps of Beatrix. Vogel likes to spoil her, and has been trying to convince her to try a different path in life.
Cornelius Yeung: Vogel's long-time friend and business partner. The two met in culinary school and have been inseparable since. Despite their difference in economic and social status, Cornelius treats Vogel with frankness and simplicity and does not let it get in the way of their friendship.
Marcus: A frequent client of Vogel's bar. Vogel has given the man a coveted VIP membership, despite his lack of connections to the elite, as he quite enjoys the honest feedback the man gives his concoctions. He also secretly enjoys seeing him cut in line past all the other more sharply dressed guests - perhaps a way of vicariously sticking it to the pretentious social climbers coming in to his bar just for the pretty pictures instead of enjoying the experience.
A E S I R
◄ E N C O U N T E R ►
The people sneer at me, I can feel it. No doubt they only see the veneer of my wealth. That I am evil because I have more than they do. That I am a thing to be feared because I know more than they ever will, in this strife. They are right beside me, but their hearts and minds are far away.
"On behalf of the Union's rationing program, your power generators will be shut down-"
"We don't want the Union here!" An old man shouts from the back, but he is silenced by those who still have the sense to swallow their bitter anger.
"Rest assured, this endeavor will not influence the current neutrality of your territory. This is only a measure for-"
"That is a lie! You are like the fire. You burn and consume, and soon, there will be nothing left of the earth!"
And that is the truth. We all know it. I am nothing but a mouthpiece for the monster that will devour the world, the monster in all of civilized society. To create by destroying, to give by taking - this is man's prodigious talent. This is the Union.
A drop of water wets my skin. It takes me a while to realize that it is raining.
The crowd begins to disperse, and I am thankful. Like an answered prayer, the rain pours harder. The podium is uncovered and I feel the wetness run down my skin. Then the sky rumbles. I know not why, but the sound of thunder brings me calm. And the rain, quenching the earth, washing away all the filth - it is as if the world has chosen, once more, to give us a fresh start.
Like the rain, I too, wish to be a part of hope. But why does it feel like I am doing everything wrong?
No.
I am not wrong.
It is this judgment that is wrong.
But-
What can I do?
A flood of despair runs through me; I am afraid, terrified, no - exhilarated! The hairs on the back of my neck rise in anticipation of something, I know not what. It is as if a bolt of pure energy is about to come crashing down on me, and for some reason, I cannot bring myself to move. Only my eyes are free, and in the corner, I spy a little girl. She, too, looks at me with disgust.
So I prayed. I prayed to whatever being was out there, above or below us, that I be struck dead by lightning. A fitting end to a flash in the pan that is my life.
There is a severe flash of light, and what sounded like a shriek or a roar - I close my eyes and feel a cold burn for one infinite second - then I hear the thunder.
When my eyes are open, the ground is scorched, the generators are brimming with power, and the girl, she's...
She's smiling at me.
T E C H N I Q U E S
BEAM ★
ORB ★
VORTEX ★
Sync The Wildcard
Member
Seen
12 mos ago
Griffith Weiss
◄ 26 ▎ MALE ▎ 6'2 ►
◄ 26 ▎ MALE ▎ 6'2 ►
P R E S E N C E
Griffith grew in unfortunate circumstances. Since the age of fourteen he was legally registered as an orphan due to his father’s passing in the collapse of mine #295 and his mother's mental illness. Taken to a foster home, he grew to become a soldier for hire, taking jobs mainly as a guard for miners. The work consisted of a lot of travel, although at times he was assigned to the ones near Oakridge if he was lucky enough.
He never takes his helmet off for particular circumstances he never talks about. For the most part this individual leans on the silent. Speaks only when spoken to. He lets his work do all the talking, actions speak louder than any words can. A soft soul, however, having a strong affinity for the preservation of life, be it human or animal. Ironically due to his position he has had to evaluate such, be it as he holds the gun that would evidently mean someone’s death.
It wasn’t until his later teen that he discovered his potential, after such his workload grew and his opportunities for more earnings as well. Most of his credits go towards his mother, who is undercare for her dementia. Other than that, he mostly works to train young soldiers back at headquarters if the need be.
C H R O N I C L E
The battery is running out, my vision is getting blurry and my movements are hindered. For the moment, the pain isn't that terrible. But the rubble is heavy and I can feel all the pieces slowly excavate their way into the armor... I don't know how long this will last, or how far I can go. But please-- If anyone is out there-- Tell my wife, Aurora and my child Griffith... That I love them and care for them dearly. I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you, son. Please grow up to be something you're proud of. I lo--
The message cuts there, the sound of interference breaks the signal the moment another sound of shifted earth enters the seams. Sitting in darkness lit only by the soothing grace of a faint candle light, was a man dressed entirely in hydrophobic wear, plating of armor glistening to the subtle flame, helmet emanating its neon emerald hue, displaying to full effect the power of the battery surging through indicating cables across a line to the side of its surface, running down to his neck and on to his spine. Hand reached to his helmet, a button was pressed on its side, a screen appears asking to play the recording once more peered before the screen. How many times has he heard this recording? It doesn't feel like much but it was certain to be hundreds, probably thousands of times over. However it certainly feels fresh every moment he does. The sounds of his father's gasping voice attempting to seek out the strength to let out his final words. It's been years now, but the memory resides freshly on his mind like if it were only yesterday. How old was he? Early teens, for sure.
It wasn’t later of such an event that his mother started to show signs of mental instability. Perhaps it was due to the shock. Another missile attack was fired close to where his father was working. As a miner, you could understand that the caverns hold little to no support for a possibility of collapse, each year, each month, each hour and second of the day is a new worry when it comes to excavation on this line of work. Taking men across the unions to dislocated areas in hopes to find new resources for the advancement of society in general. A faint hope, exposing them to anomalies and attacks from both man and monsters alike. This was perhaps one of the most accessible jobs out there, anyone could join just by merely applying to it, but the risk were equally as accessible.
His hands hovered over the selection screen, patiently awaiting it’s command, Griffith swiped away the message, melancholy wasn’t something he needed at the moment. The radio chimed in, propaganda began to play out like it usually does, news about the recent attacks and the plan for colonizing the neutral zones on behalf of a better tomorrow. Politics at its best, promise of wealth and opportunity showered the sources of the net, before long you couldn’t help but think all of it was made up. Fiction to attract or perhaps maybe even, devoid the citizens of their common sense. Aesir worship has declined ever so greatly after the coming years, and their practice has been scarce or even non-existent. Being born and raised in Oakridge was a prevalent reason for this. All in all, everything was uncoordinated and messy.
A man entered the campsite, placing his rifle on the side walking towards a chair next to Griffith, he removed his helmet. A heavy sigh escaping him before he exasperated his announcement “Your shift is in about 30 minutes. Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”
Griffith turned off the channels “I already am.” The man looks at the clock, it would soon be sunrise, the sun would shower the landscapes and Griffith would be at its apex, a nod of affirmation. A sensitive in this line of work was reassuring, however it wouldn’t always be the case when it comes to guard duty in the mines. Griffith puts out good work, and has managed to keep steady on his responsibilities. However he never takes off his helmet, no matter the circumstances he keeps that thing on in all occasions. Luckily, his powers haven’t been needed in the year he has worked here, but his presence gives the people enough encouragement to feel protected.
“Word around the caves is that you’re returning back to Oakridge. Guess they need you back at your headquarters, huh?” Griffith didn’t respond at first, keeping busy loading his pistol and searching his pockets for the instruments needed for the job. Although he was in the early shifts in the morning, darkness wasn’t uncommon, he would sometimes need to delve into the caverns and his powers would subside substantially. “Griffith?” Impatiently, the man rose his voice once again.
“Training duty.”
The man's brow rose in confusion, perhaps he meant he was in charge of the kids this year. It was never easy for the Sensitive, as the practice of such was nonexistent unless they went to pilgrimage, they would recruit their available resources even if they were half-across the world. Guess this year was Griffith’s turn. “That’s unfortunate. The workers here just started to get used to you. After a year of course.”
“I wish I could stay too.” The man let out a strong laugh, almost as if what he was an absurd notion to think of. “You kiddin’me? I can’t wait to sit my ass home and see my wife and kid. Sure the pay is good, but there’s no way in hell I like working the third shift and putting my life in danger like that.”
Griffith stands off his chair and picks up his rifle. “I guess you’re right.” and proceeded to head out. The man follows him with his gaze, until he meets the end of his sight, spitting on the floor where Griffith stood. A grimace on his face.
“Good riddance, freak.”
M E M O R I E S
Walter Weiss: His father. Died during a collapse of the mines roughly twelve years ago. Is Griffith's sense of direction in life and a massive inspiration. Without him, Griffith believe he wouldn't be as hardworking as he is today.
Aurora Weiss: Griffith's mother. She was lively and kind during her time when her husband was alive. Through perhaps mental trauma of the events that caused by her husband death, she began to show signs of severe dementia and was hospitalized. Griffith only has fond memories of her, and does everything and anything necessary to assist her care in the of the hospital she's in.
Priscilla Winters: Foster sister, a year younger than Griffith himself. They grew close during the time of his awakening. She became a beacon of support when things were grim with Griffith, she never forgets that one time when he learned a single song on her father's guitar to play for her because he couldn't get enough money to pay for a present.
Hugh Winters: Foster father. A kind man, ex-military who insisted upon Griffith to join the force. He is strong and disciplined, however with a heart of gold.
Vy Winters: Foster mother. She and Hugh met during their time in the force. She was a nurse and they evidently fell in love. She has been a great mother figure for Griffith during his stay, if anyone has won the title of second mother it was certainly Vy.
Commander Charlotte Fulton: A companion to Griffith during his youth, closely related to his age, but far more proficient in the arts of combat. She was in charge of his training when he registered, teaching all sort of combat maneuvers and strategy. She was the cause as to his awakening to his Aesir.
A E S I R
A L E X A N D E R
The force of a man is measured by the strength of the undying will, of the purpose he places upon himself and the people around him that elevate his sense of prowess. That unravels the truth within the course of a thousand veils, he who cannot be defeated by mere actions or words, the charisma of the benign and yet the fury of the dreaded. He stands among a million, the voices that cry out in either agony, despair, of the naysayers or the hatred that engulfs the heart of crying mothers, lonely children, battered fathers. Of the pessimists, the cynics, the voices of a myriad that calls out for a hero that would bring forth the good of the world! A man who isn’t afraid to place himself on the line of fire, whose life is a mere extension that docks upon humanity to face what the weakened of both heart and soul cannot. A warrior soul that stands out, peers from the silent gaps of reality. A conqueror in its own right!
A warrior soul with qualities of a king.
"Look what's become of us..."
In the midst of an endless struggle, perhaps I'd be the first to leave my teammates behind. Those were the last word he uttered before he knew a time of peace. "You knew only war, but I lived during a time before it." Spiteful even, that venomous phrase imprinted itself onto flesh, almost like a scar. Suggesting, or perhaps even, asserting a fortitude bathed in animosity. Nobody wanted to help her. Her hands forging whatever strength left to reach out to his helmet, pressing down its tenderness onto its steel. Attempting some sort of connection with the man holding her up, desperately calling out for aid, when none would arrive. They've done it, of course... They've won against the opposing force. But at what cost? "I thought that, for a moment, you'd be the first to leave, Griffith. Yet, you stayed." He couldn't answer her, her eyes seemed faded and her life had begun to melt away in the seems, her face attempted a smile, but he knew that whatever forgery she had wanted to do, it merely imitated a lie. "Thank you. For staying." His hand gripped tightly to her, embracing her for a final moment before her eyes drifted away to darkness. He remembered to clearly the days when the two spent together... Moments which were once a routine of everyday, had now shifted to precious memories.
~~**~~
After the close loss of Charlotte, Griffith had finally understood what it meant to be close to losing something precious. When his father died so many years back, he figured that closure was not something easily gained. Struggle followed effervescently, each day became somewhat of a hassle to deal with. Working on the mines as security began to turn stale, and soon he found himself suggesting mercenary work. Taking on most of the General alerts as a means of an escape, instead of income. Distance became somewhat synonymous with him, of course, he was the proud owner of the phrase "In the midst of an endless struggle, perhaps I'd be the first to leave my teammates behind." Or for most, that would be the case, in the time during the expeditions, the armored sentient had heard a voice heed him in the distance. The stars aligned at a time where struggle was at his doorstep, yet he ignored it. He and his mentor felt the need to take their time, and an attack caught them by surprise, victorious at the end, the commander had suffered wounds that were too deep to be taken care of by Griffith. Her armor had been pierced and comprised by a series of bullets. In a flurry of emotion, the Aesir blessed Griffith with its presence and allowed him to summon its strength. In a blink of an eye, his powers blared in display as he put a definite halt to the chaos. Shielding his mentor from further harm and returning her to sickbay in time.
Under this guidance, perhaps, Griffith has become much more compassionate towards life. Amiable, yet disguised behind a layer of sternness. Although he is not a devout practitioner of the faith, perhaps something behind this blessing has shifted his view on the world and its people. Rather, he would say that now: "In the midst of an endless struggle, perhaps I'd be the last to leave my teammates behind."
T E C H N I Q U E S
REFLECTIVE ATTACKS
BARRIER
SHATTER-BLAST
Lionhearted ♡
Member
Seen
1 day ago
A R T E M I S C H A S E
◄ 27 ▎ FEMALE ▎ 5’10 ►
◄ 27 ▎ FEMALE ▎ 5’10 ►
P R E S E N C E
Artemis is an ever-changing woman. For years, she was commanded, ordered, and trained to become a mold crafted by a system of leaders who relentlessly strived for control. Once bound by the chains of manipulation, she has broken free to become anew with bursting emotions that she can freely express without fear of consequences. The next chapter of her life unfolded into a complex chain of new beginnings, granting her the key to unlock so many doors that she never realized were available to her. Whom was once compliant and unresisting to her fearful overseers, has become a woman of fortitude while retaining the might of her zealous heart.
A soldier, a spy, a killer, an elite—they demanded it all. All in which she longs to forget, but stains her body and mind worse than the blood of her victims. Of the titles she collected, her pride remained on one—a protector. Although it came from sinister origins, the title sparked within her a hope for independence in which she now relishes in. Artemis is truly a protector, defending those that cannot defend themselves, or those that she deems worthy of protection. She rises from the ashes of the past, seeking nothing but to be greater than the woman she was yesterday, while remaining present to avoid her haunting roots. Eyes forward, she only glances back to realize the distance she’s traveled and the adversities she’s overcome.
Talented as Artemis may be, her charm doesn’t match her captivating beauty as her serious personality stays firm as steel. Her threatening blue eyes, that give both salvation and fear, glisten with ambition and pierce like a bullet. Her long, blonde hair shines even in the midst of combat and her body remains strong and toned while possessing a feminine curve. Romance has never been her strong suit, valuing her closed walls too much to protect her dignity and her new-found independence.
C H R O N I C L E
“They called me the valkyrie.”
Soaring in various aircrafts, her escape has always been within the sky. Becoming a pilot of the Devlon Industries was always an honor, but Artemis strived to master this skill set, craving the high altitudes in times of stress or pain. The way the earth looked so small and the ability to travel far away from her troubles created the perfect outlet for a confined girl. Although she could run, she would always return, but with readiness to face her problems head-on. Artemis’ love for flying was soon noted, and what was a hobby was predictably turned into a way of killing. So she learned the controls of a much different aircraft, ones with complex components that dominated the skies and really placed the union’s name within the domain. With careful learning, they soon built her a signature war jet in which people identified as her pegasus, which made the jet adopt it’s winged aesthetics. Within it, was her—Artemis, the Valkyrie.
"I did it all for him. I did everything for him."
The title made her father proud, the man that steered her life into a twisted, robotic destiny that was predetermined since her birth. While their connection was built on a foundation of fear and authority, she held onto the faint love tighter than her gun, despite its sparse existence. This caused her to obey for the sake of the bond she struggled to have, causing her to obediently become a needed weapon for the Devlon Industries. Artemis trained hard with mixed emotions that were bottled up beneath her soul, aching to unleash them, but burying them harshly.
"At times I felt like a robot, incapable of being my own person. And still, I did it for him."
Thus, Artemis proceeded with her life, doing as she was demanded, and performing her best with every task. From spying, to sending messages, to killing without reason—her life was made for her, but with only darkness to look forward to. Since the day she could remember, she had never made a choice of her own and held her opinions back, moving like a pawn in an army, utilizing her combined battle prowess with her eonic powers to become an icon of both hope and destruction for her union. She was known by many, and respected by many, yet the respect from her father was harder than wrestling a lion. Still, she fought, with strength and vigor, until her eyes could see beyond the darkness that adhered to her fate. What lied ahead was nothing but a repetitive life full of blood on her hands and knives in her back.
"Selfish as I was, I finally demanded my life back."
So Artemis opened her mind and unchained her soul, casting out her emotions and accepting the consequences of doing so. Her disobedience was accounted for, and her life was grasped tighter than what it was before, restricting her freedom in anyway that they could—but she evaded. Slipping through their fingers like water, like she was trained to do, Artemis broke free of their painful grip and attempted to lead a rebellion against the Devlon Industries. Although she wreaked havoc upon her controllers, she failed to overthrow the union and came out alone, despite the many followers she was able to muster.
"But does my fate lie at the point of his gun?"
Amidst the rebellion and behind the demolished buildings and ruthless killing, she came out with her treasured independence, but also her self-blame upon failing her loyal advocates just for the sake of, what she considered, a selfish act. So she escaped—soaring on her pegasus and through the dangerous skies, only to be shot down after a long chase through neutral terrain.
"I've accepted death long ago, but I somehow manage to flee from it's crosshairs."
Artemis, reluctantly, made it out alive, finding refuge in Oakridge. There, she kept her head low, and lived minimalistically thereafter. She got a job at a bakery and learned to love the art, soon taking it over from the elderly lady that opened it.
—The tape continued to play among the broken and shattered parts of her pegasus, Artemis’ voice shaking with emotion.
“I remember being captivated by the colors of the field my father took me to when I was a little girl. I was so afraid to release the euphoria that encompassed my body, but he could see the shaking smile that I just couldn’t hold back. So he told me it was okay. Pink—that became my favorite color. The way the lotus petals danced around me pulled the strings of my condemned spirit, causing me to run around in a fit of joy, but I remember constantly looking over my shoulder at him to make sure that he didn’t have a change of heart. It’s a memorable moment for me, from the innocent happiness that I could finally let out. . .but also from the beauty turned evil.
He told me about the lotus flower, how it’s bloom used to be celebrated by many because they only survived for so long. Everything has meaning. Just like my purpose on this earth, the flowers, too, had a predetermined meaning. 'The shortness of life' he said. The flowers resembled the shortness of life, the lives that I would end, the insignificance of survival without purpose—all shattering the beauty I saw in the moment and turning my smile back into my frown. And yet, I turn to this vivid memory, even as I pressed the barrel of my gun against the head of my father, the commander of the Devlon Industries. I soon realized that he wasn’t the one that kept me aflame, but instead, he ignited the fire in my soul and I learned to nurture it.
Who knew I would be the one to send him to his grave. But still—I love him.”
M E M O R I E S
Artemis is a trained elite, and has been trained as so ever since she was a young age. Being the daughter of a commander, whom led such an iconic legion of impenetrable soldiers and weaponry, she had a very high expectation to meet. She did find success in this, though. Her aeonic powers came to her suddenly and she was immediately placed under strict lessons to harness this power. Artemis, already a fierce fighter, was only further enhanced by the awakening of her powers and only knew how to be a weapon controlled by its puppeteer.
| //SKILLS Hand-to-hand Combat: Artemis is strongest in close quarters and prefers to utilize her fists in battle. Flexible, dextrous, and strong all add to her intense lethality, making her a strong force to be reckoned with. Pilot: Artemis’ most appreciated skill is her ability to control aircrafts. This is cherished because of the escape and freedom it gives by it’s ascent, regardless of how sinister the intention of the flight may be. Artemis has learned to fly various aircrafts and has a knack for air combat. Her Pegasus—now crushed to pieces—is her most comfortable aircraft to fly. It’s gadgets and speed, combined, make for a deadly weapon. Blast: Artemis’ signature move is the aeonic force that she blasts from her fists. This increases the damage of her regular martial art moves. Barrier: Artemis uses barriers as a way to protect herself from projectiles and get in and out of close-quarters safely. Reflective Attacks: Artemis uses this ability to cast out small beams to properly damage enemies that would surround her. Orb: Although not used as much, Artemis uses this ability in case she needs to detonate a desired area. She also uses this technique for healing, should she ever need to. | //combat suit Artemis still uses the combat suit that was designed for her when she was under the command of Devlon Industries. Prior to her rebellion, she had her suit edited to make it stronger and geared towards her aeonic powers. She also had her tracker removed from it. It’s fabric and protective plating is infused with Devlon technology, created aesthetically and carefully, making it a proper and fitting attire for a formidable hero to adorn. It contains gadgets throughout, but they’re all hidden and made light-weight. |
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Alexander Chase(deceased) - The renowned commander, the fearful strategist, the taunting combatant, and the father to Artemis Chase. Their relationship was complex, showcasing a father’s love, but also the strictness of a militant and the expectations of a government. He was known by many, and revered by most, but Artemis knew him differently than the world. Regardless of the threat he posed and the innocents he’s slain, she adored him.
The Rebellion(deceased) - Artemis organized a rebellion to sway the intentions of the Devlon Industries. While they impacted a great deal to the society and the government, they ended in failure. The Devlon Industries are an extreme force and Artemis could only conjure a handful of allies to aid her in her campaign. While they have left their mark and imprinted some beacon of hope within the corrupted union, they are now deceased or missing. Artemis, as well.
Meredith Evans - The elderly woman that generously took in Artemis. Artemis hasn’t shared her history with her, but Meredith always said she could see people’s colors. Almost like a fortune-teller, Meredith always tells Artemis that her future is bright, and her aura is warming. The sweet woman is as sharp as a tack and still moves freely despite her aging body. Artemis has a very high respect for the woman, and would do anything for her.
A E S I R
S E R A P H I M
Artemis grew up with a strange complex of timidness and it’s opposing determination. The two strongest influences of her life were both the stoic Seraphim and her domineering father, creating the war within Artemis to muster and rage wildly. She was pulled in two opposite directions for the majority of her life. Seraphim whispering the secrets to leadership and self-preservation, while her father instructs the ways of obedience and order. Artemis took control of her life through the guidance of her Aesir and is on the road to self-discovery, unfolding her true destiny and reclaiming her life. While she was apparent of these teachings of Seraphim, she never applied them to her life because she lived in fear of disappointment. Casting that aside, she was able to unleash with Seraphim at her side.
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Zack Yvette-Cortez
◄ 23 ▎ MALE ▎ 6'1 ►
P R E S E N C E
Moralism was a thing of the past, seeing into the action of others would be something a politician would do or a general. However, those who don't fall into an institutional category what do you call them? Those people while few would be like Zack Yvette-Cortez. He was calculated, cool and dare even suggest funny? He liked to be the center of the party but when things got serious he would be the one to make the first move, first draw or shot. Zack is agenda-driven, while he makes alot of friends and connections his mind always goes back to his goal, at least while he works.
C H R O N I C L E
Those who have the right to enact moral authority as corrupt as the ones they claim to purge.
I always thought there were good people in the world, the ones that would be the change in society that we needed but it seems like everyone is in it for themselves. Hey, that's how you could explain the unions just an entity to collect money and further their power, eventually one day one union will rule all of the worlds as we know it. For most it's scary but for me, it's calming knowing that there once be safety eventually, of course at one's civil liberties. This is a discussion often held in legionary bars or amongst the old.
Growing up being a Aeon was kinda cool, but tough that was for sure going through special training to become a weapon of war by the unions was never how it was sold to me. I was going to be tougher, stronger and smarter. My instructors were older Aeons, I didn't realize at the time but they never were happy. My mentor Gammon St. Laurent had served in the wars decades prior, he was one of the best the unions had at their disposal but I could always see he wanted out. It wouldn't be until later in life when I would truly understand my powers.
I'm not one for politics but I was fortunate to be born with a silver spoon in my mouth, I lived well with my family in the Devlon Industries Union until a rebellion was brought onto our union by a famous Ace known as the 'Valkyrie'. Her forces, unfortunately, killed my mother after fighting broke out in the market. My life was changed forever, while I had never been a real adult until then I was flung into the fight to defend the union. My time at the military school had paid off, I began to pilot the DI's planes and quickly became an Ace after shooting down enemy fighters sortie after sortie.
While I felt alone and under immense pressure throughout this conflict as would any Union soldier felt, my wingman Robert Hernandez was my emotional crutch throughout the rebellion. His humor and sense of hope would be what got me through my days, meal-by-meal as well being an excellent pilot as well he covered and saved my ass more times than I was able to do for him.
At the end of the conflict, Hernandez and I were assigned to 'Vampyr' Squadron where I we began to clean up the rest of the rebellion. However, we had one issue with gaining air superiority. 'Valkyrie' had been taking down union pilots since the start of the rebellion, she and we knew that it was over. When we sortied and cornered her, she took to the neutral parts of the known world. Hernandez got the killing shot, taking her aircraft down.
This isn't a story about a hero.
When it was all over, our squadron was hailed in the propaganda broadcasts and Hernandez the hero of the union. I would of admitted I was jealous at the time, but my feelings changed rather quickly. Hernandez vanished days after, never to be seen again. Of course the ass hole wouldn't of forgotten about me right? A note was left in my locker.
"Seek Foxtrot 11, not everything was what it seemed to be in this rebellion."
I crumbled up the note, throwing it into a garbage can as I left the locker room - how could he do this, vanish without a trace and leave some cryptic note? It was obvious Hernandez had some kind of remorse for his role in the war but I wouldn't understand his role in the rebellion until later, I had come to understand Valkrie's stance in the union's grand schemes. She was just a pawn waiting to be played, her rebellion would have allowed the independence she so desperately seeks.
Yet what was freedom? If the world was plunged into chaos, could anyone truly be free?
It was all over, with the help of Hernandez my mother had been avenged. I laid her to rest with my father once the war ended. He was proud of me but could see I was obviously hurt by the conflict. I left without a word, I coulden't face him after all that happened. He was a loyalist and if I had let him known about my plans to leave he would have had me stopped, so I left and traveled to Oakridge it was known for its hub of criminal activity.
Perhaps people would know who or what Foxtrot 11 was, and if I could find them maybe I could find Hernandez.
I left my life behind to find my best friend, some people might think I'm crazy but I have a feeling he could have the answers that I've been looking for.
Who really was Valkyrie?
M E M O R I E S
Gammon St. Laurent - One of the oldest and experienced Aeons at the DI's disposal, he was a tough but nurturing teacher and parted many techniques and knowledge to his students. It always felt like he wanted to escape to the neutral territories, perhaps he knew that if he left he'd put his former students at risk and those who dared to follow him.
Conrad Yvette-Cortez - My father, while I love him like nothing else in this world he is a loyalist to the union. It wasn't a big deal until I decided to packup and leave my city forever, I coulden't face him and after my mother passed away things had never been the same.
Sasha Yvette-Cortez - My mother, she was sweet and loving. She went too early, I didn't know what to do with myself once she was taken from me. I found a calling in flying, and now I'm following my wingman down to the ends of the world to find out what the fuck happened to him. Am I crazy mom?
Robert Hernandez - He kept me alive during the rebellion but once he vanished after it, along with his note it made me question everything I had known. My belief were challenged but I had to find out what happened to him, and what connection he has to the rebellion, Foxtrot 11 and maybe even Valkrie herself.
'Vampyr' Squadron - Consisting of myself, Hernandez, Gurman, King & Rose we were the heavy hitters of the air force during the rebellion war. While I was closest to Hernandez I got along well with the others, I'll miss them but it's better if they don't know where I was going.
A E S I R
It came in my dreams.
I know it sounds a bit funky but after I started fighting against the Rebellion in DI in my dreams came a beast of fire, it was a bit confusing and I didn't understand it at the time but that was Ifrit the god of war. It had been attracted to my hatred towards the rebellion and was feeding off it, at that point the power of a god was behind me. It would explain why I was able to down so many fighters, Ifrit was at my side.
Now after the war he still lingers, waiting for the next target of my hate. For him the war never really ended, but I'm obliged to do my best to make him proud.
C O O L A S F U C K T E C H N I Q U E S
Missle.
Blast.
Atom-Cluster.
G A I L S A N T I A G O
◄ 38 ▎ MALE ▎ 6'0 ►
◄ 38 ▎ MALE ▎ 6'0 ►
P R E S E N C E
Unpredictable. It was a descriptor that Gail didn't feel suited him, as he prided himself on making informed, well-thought-out decisions. He wasn't quite that rash nor impulsive, and while he considered himself an opportunist he was by no means disloyal or insubordinate to his superiors either. And yet the label was often used by other people when describing him; as for someone who came off as casual and easygoing, he was capable of sudden outbursts of violence and hatred that wasn't quite understood by others. It would never seem truly random, yet at the same time it would seem unclear, as if he abided by a set of rules and triggers that made sense only to himself.
But to Gail, he never saw himself that way. No, he was just pragmatic, efficient, even, as during his mandatory time in the military he showed absolutely no hesitance in causing destruction and death, which was greatly appreciated by the Union. They wanted victory at any cost, and he gave it to them whenever possible. Not to say he did it all for them, his motivations were much simpler than that. All he wanted was chaos, and he didn't care how he caused it or who it helped. He never actually cared about the good of the Union, nor did he care about ending their reign. None of it mattered to him; as long as someone gave him the opportunity to unleash chaos, he was content.
Once out on inactive duty, he found himself attracted to "oddjobs" that satisfied his wants. As an Aeon his skill set was a rare and coveted one, but what made him unique even beyond that was that he was an incredibly imposing physical force thanks to his Aesir granting him strength beyond what was considered typical for Aeons. And seeing as Aeons were known to already be incredibly strong, it made him a perfect candidate as hired muscle for whoever needed someone like him. Even when he took on jobs that essentially just made him somebody's henchman, he was more than fine with it as long as he got to cause some damage.
C H R O N I C L E
"You were born before the Unions took over, right?" A young man asks as he takes a seat at an unoccupied bar stool. By the looks of him, one could guess he was fresh from the military. In it long enough to have seen warfare, but still so young.
"Yeah. I was just a kid back then." An older man replies. Though no longer in active service at the moment himself, he still perused bars in Oakridge that were popular spots for off-duty soldiers. He'd come alone, but he supposed he had company now, a face that was slowly becoming familiar as they'd now run into each other a couple times now.
"What was it like?" It was a question all the kids asked, and even some adults who were too young to remember anything from back then. With information about the past becoming more and more suppressed as the years went by, it was no surprise that so few people remembered anymore.
"I don't remember much," the older man replies as a small wistful smile formed on his lips, "But it wasn't much different than how it is now. The politics, power struggles, endless wars, fragile economies, and big brother governments were all still there. It was just a lot more blatantly obvious back then, all on full display for everyone to see. That, and we were a lot more free, for better or worse. It was wild, honestly."
"Weird thing to feel nostalgia over," the young man commented with a grimace, earning a raised brow from the man beside him. "I mean, I can see it on your face." He paused. "Was it really just the same shit back then?"
"Nah, I'm fucking with you," the older man chuckled as he sipped from his drink.
"Figured." The disappointment in the young man's voice was obvious, but he wasn't expecting much anyway.
"If I actually told you what it was like," the older man continued, "We'd be taken care of quick. Squeaked so clean no one would know we even existed. Like hell I'd admit something like that out loud."
"Last time we met, you told me you killed someone. Flat out murdered a guy."
"Your point? What's it got to do with anything?"
"My point is that you obviously don't care about the consequences. I barely even know you and you've told me some of the craziest shit I've heard in my life. You say it all like it means nothing to you. So why censor yourself about the past?"
They were both quiet for a moment. One waiting, the other reflecting.
"Maybe I don't want to get you in trouble." With a laugh, he ruffles the younger man's hair like as if he were a young kid and stands up. "I'm not looking to be responsible for some kid's death. Stop asking questions that'll get you killed." He turned to leave after that, having already paid his tab earlier and not wanting to stick around any longer.
"...I don't get you, you know that?" The young man called out to the retreating figure.
"I know." He didn't get himself either. He never had, not even when he was a kid.
M E M O R I E S
Jackson Santiago: Gail's father. He wished he could remember more of him, but both of his parents retreated to neutral zones after he'd been drafted into the military. He never got back in contact with his dad, but thanks to an information broker knows that both of his parents are at least still alive.
Chell Rillia-Santiago: Gail's mother. He met his mom by chance once while deployed. She begged him to go AWOL and come to live in the neutral zone with her and his dad, but he rejected her. He regrets the decision now later in life, but knew he couldn't leave without endangering his parents. Besides, he'd never felt more alive than when he'd been a soldier anyway.
Trevor Grant: The closest person Gail has to an acquaintance. They've met at bars and chatted a few times and the guy isn't dead yet, so it's something. He wouldn't consider the guy a friend, but then again, he doesn't particularly have any to begin with.
Underground Network: Gail's contacts for jobs. He doesn't personally know any of them, but they give him work and keep him up to date if there's anything he wants to know.
A E S I R
Bahamut had always been with Gail, even if he wasn't always conscious of the fact. It was a voice without words, something only he could understand and even know existed. It whispered sweet nothings in his ear of chaos and destruction, of the apocalypse and of nothing at all. It had no real control over him and yet he felt its pull on his mind. It was the single biggest influence in his life and yet he couldn't even truly comprehend it. It consisted of nothing but contradictions that he accepted as myriad truths.
It made him feel absolutely bat shit insane.
And yet, he couldn't deny how tantalizing its power was. It made him strong, and made him feel good for using its strength. It never forced him to do anything, and he indeed felt satisfaction in causing chaos of what he thought was his own accord. Bahamut couldn't be an evil entity, that would just be too simple. Would the apocalypse truly cause the end of the world anyway? And considering the state of things, would it really be that bad of a thing? It wasn't on his to-do list by any means, and he didn't care enough to be the harbinger of the end times anyway, but if the world burned away...as long as Bahamut willed it, he was fine.
T E C H N I Q U E S
MEGA-BEAM
BARRIER
ORB
BLAST
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