NAME: No.639 “Sinmara” D’Silvae
AGE: 26
GENDER: Female
APPEARANCE: Standing at 5’10”,
Sinmara is tall and sturdily built, with appreciate muscle and an overall meatiness. Her skin is a rich dark brown, featuring many x-shaped scars of varying recency, and her long hair -white striped with black- is tied up in a chain of voluminous bundles with red cord. Curved red horns extend upward on either side of her head, her brows are thick and rounded but short, and her sharp teeth are often bared in a smile. Her eyes are a yellow-orange, their irises seemingly cracked. Her outfit, a purple suit jacket plus matching slacks, are casually (almost recklessly) worn to accentuate the curves and muscles she’s evidently so proud of, with rolled-up sleeves and braggadocious flame patterns, all held together by a number of black belts, straps, and suspenders. Purple sneakers, helpfully-labeled fighting gloves, and sunglasses all help complete a look that epitomizes what Sinmara herself thinks is really cool, whether or not anyone else agrees with her
PERSONALITY: Most Scions are charismatic, with an emotional intelligence, subtlety, and cunning that allow them to connect with and influence those around them. They are being of enchanting mystique and allure–for the most part. Sinmara is nothing like that. She is boisterous, braggadocious, energetic, competitive, friendly, and unerringly confident. Highly physical, this easily-bored adrenaline-seeker prizes fighting most of all, and being ‘cool’ is not far behind. Such a bumbling idiot, fixated on self-aggrandizement and life’s simple pleasures, is wholly unsuited as one of my Scions. Yet, there’s something about her straightforward, gung-ho wholeheartedness that’s oddly endearing, particularly when she’s vying to earn my approval. Like a puppy. For all her obnoxiousness it’s annoyingly difficult to truly dislike her
Mind: 0/10
Body: 6/10
Agility: 2/10
Craft: 0/10
Magic: 2/10
WEAPON: Heartbreak - Within each Scion beats a Heart of Darkness, and each is able to call forth that Heart of Darkness in tangible form, revealing the eldritch truth at the core of their being, and wielding it as a symbol of their conviction to lay claim to what they desire. As one might expect of Sinmara, her Heartbreak is aggressive, ostentatious, and impractically cool: a demonic-looking chainsaw spear. As her heart quickens, its infernal engine sings ever louder, increasing the chainsaw’s destructive might and turning its teeth red-hot
FIGHTING STYLE: Though Sinmara loves using her chainspear, she loves using her fists even more. Her incredible physical strength serves a wild, untrained, brawling-type style in which she wantonly throws her weight around, seldom stopping to think or plan as she tries to overwhelm her opponents with sheer force. Whether she’s letting loose mighty punches or flashy chainspear moves, her style is as much about showing off as it is actual fighting, and nothing exemplifies this better than her grappling. Even if other techniques might be more effective, she’s more than willing to wrestle instead, going for all sorts of bombastic grabs, throws, holds, and other impractical but impressive moves
SKILL: Fault - A brand of elemental magic twisted by eldritch influence to form something akin to primeval, destructive sorcery. Sinmara can use it to cause ‘cracks’ of amber energy to form on her skin. These cracks can be built up and then spread into other physical matter, either in bursts through strikes or continuously through prolonged contact. These cracks can be detonated through physical contact of sufficient force so long as the striking implement isn’t also cracked. When detonated, the cracks explode, and almost anything can be shattered into pieces as if it were ceramic if it’s cracked enough, including living tissue. Stuff that’s shattered in this way can be put back together as long as the breaks on the pieces still glow orange, which is important for Sinmara because Fault can backfire. She herself can be broken and blown up in this manner, though luckily her individual pieces can keep on living as if nothing was wrong so she can be put back together.
MAGIC BRANCH: Elemental Magic (Earth) / Dark Magic
BIO: In truth, it’s hard to say just how long ago it was that the firmaments above wept upon the Ardmarsuma borderlands a single, ink-black tear. What matters is that that ill-fated blot, hungry and unwholesome, fell at the height of its halcyon days, never imagining that the voracity of mankind might outstrip its own. Surely you’ve heard of that mercantile desert crossroads, its
vivid sandstone painted in variegated hues of vermillion, phthalo, and lavender by grace of the mineral wealth within? Long had the people of that arid province cultivated fame and fortune as traders and warriors, making the most of their land’s hidden wealth and its advantageous position as crossroads between neighboring kingdoms. It was here that I first descended, and where I took root in the loose, sandy earth the land turned rich and black, bringing forth forests of living bone, of
coral trees that walked, devoured, and deceived. We were glorious then, my brood and I, but we propagated ourselves too greedily. From the shade of their Silver Canopy,
Mizalat Kabira, the loveless Ardmarsumites watched our advent in horror. Rallying her neighbors, the queen sent forth her warriors, and the powerful alliance began to slaughter us. Desperate to live, my Dark Young and I fought back against their wanton cruelty, but the faster we spawned, the faster they cut us down. When the sun next rose over the painted desert, only I remained in the heart of my burning grove, withered and spent. In their mindless barbarity they called me the Horn-Cancer, the Goat of the Woods, loathed me, and killed me.
Yet a part of me remained, hidden within the heart of the queen, left so hollow by recent misfortune that a small fragment of my being could creep in. Weak and powerless, for years I could do naught but cling to life, and ruminate on the lesson that I had learned. An outside force, no matter how hungry nor ambitious, could not conquer humanity; they could only be led to defeat themselves. In the decades that followed the queen’s abdication, I slowly merged with my host, gaining strength through the discrete consumption of paupers, alone and invisible, that nobody would miss. When I finally awoke, we were not host and parasite, but a single combined being, starved and ready to devour this world anew. But now, possessed of human intelligence and emotion, I knew better than to come as invader, my banner of annihilation held high. Instead I would come as the Mother, patiently and lovingly accepting the lonely, the outcast, and the despairing, filling their broken hearts with my own and making them my own children. Born anew in my image, they in turn would spread far and wide, not as Dark Young armed with hoof and claw but as Scions offering the wholeness that the shattered men and women of the world so desperately crave. So that they, too, might willingly surrender, and join my ever-growing family.
My children are many-faceted, reflecting the infinite diversity of the human race from which they’re born. Though all bear my telltale horns, no two are alike, each with their own talents and proclivities. Naturally, some turn out better than others. Among the disappointments, few stand out more than number 639, known as Sinmara. I am unaware of her original origins, possibly the tropical, sea-faring nation to the south of Ardmarsuma. Hers was a common story: the loss of a loved one left her broken and despondent, addicted to alcohol and desperate for healing. Number 522, Gruenbaum, found her in her time of need, and through his love the broken woman gave herself up to became one of us. Once she accepted my Heart of Darkness, her body and mind were wholly transformed, given life anew and crowned with the horns of my kindred, with no memories to weigh her down. Yet Sinmara came out wrong, an enthusiastic and naive oaf who’d rather fight than flirt, possessed of none of the guile and discretion my Scions require to bring more humans into the fold. Try as she might to win the approval of myself and her fellow Scions, she would win neither hearts nor converts, instead routinely getting into trouble wherever she went and drawing unwelcome attention to us. Deciding that she was hopeless as a Scion, I put her strength to work as a monster hunter, earning money to finance the efforts of my other children, though her nature led to extra headache just as often. When I learned of a new initiative to uncover the legendary weapons, however, I figured that Sinmara might finally come in useful and dispatched her to join on the off-chance that if she did actually get any, they would be of great use to me. Desperate to please her ‘mom’, and eager to fight, Sinmara naturally agreed.
