Name: Mitunbaal Vasiliou
Gender: Female
Age: 29
Nationality: Inburian Shariq
Appearance:
Personal Effects: A small collection of artifacts and trinkets from the formerly blighted territories, a Shariq prayer book, a few books, an icon of the Dawnbringer and Empress Andronika. She keeps a traditional dagger tucked under her smock.
Background: Academic. De-facto Ship’s medic
Backstory: Mitunbaal was born the eldest child to an upper-middle class Shariq family in Neapol, which she claims she can trace back to a noble family before the blight, and received a quality education due to the privilege. The young woman took to history from a young age, and found herself fascinated with the tales of her people before their exodus from the blight with its dreaded orcs. Better still were the tales during their triumphant return under the sword of the Dawnbringer, the heroics of man and elga against the ultimate evil with a noble and just cause from God himself.
It was half legend, of course, and Mitunbaal knew and understood that well even at a young age. That knowledge did not stop her from seeking formal study on the matter at the university in Neapol, focusing on both history and the archeology of the Shariq’s ancestral homelands. For as much as Mitunball enjoyed combing through tomes and what written accounts survived the collapse, she jumped at the opportunity to go on field expeditions throughout the territory.
While nature did recover from the blight and the orcs are extinct as far as the Shariq know, the scars still run deep in certain areas of the countries. This, naturally, draws curious sorts out to the unsettled, somewhat-unnatural country. It also does an explorer deep in central Shariq well to be armed, advice which one of the archeologists in her party did not heed while on camping. While relieving himself, the archeologist was assailed by a
blighted beast. The beast, best described as a rabbit with fangs, the antlers of a deer, and a pair of useless wings had bitten and gored the poor man several times. It was dispatched by a load of shot from a double-barrelled shotgun that had been brought along.
For Mitunball, this served as an awakening. Between the poor man’s anguished cries, and hissing from the beast during the attack, and the wet blood, she felt a power rise inside her as she laid hands on the man. Like a legend of old, she felt a warmth flow from her hands as she wiped down one of the open wounds and, awestruck, watched the wound rapidly knit itself closed.
She had an undeniable gift from God that was almost unheard of in the modern era, the gift of healing magic.
Unfortunately, the remainder of this first expedition was mundane in comparison. They had merely found remnants of pottery. Useful, but not groundbreaking.
Once back in the Inburian Empire, she set off for Inbur instead of returning home. Her plan was to delve into the library of University of Constaninos II in search of books and manuscripts on magic and the blight that may have survived the fall of the city to the Haltians.
Unsurprisingly, the search was mostly an exercise in futility due to a lack of study and the sacks and sieges of Inbur. Additional research would need to be done in the former blighted territory, and pieced together with what records are available between Neapol and Inbur.
Bouncing between the two major metropolises when free also broadened the woman’s circles, and she found herself increasingly engaging with Shariq nationalists when not in the field or researching. Her experience, faith, and research mingled with those types of political rhetoric has since developed peculiar if not mystic views on Shariq nationalism. Their chosen one was Favian, not Shariq, and was a close companion to the Empress during the Hasiko restoration. To Mitunbaal, was that not God’s blessing on the house to rule the Empire and the Shariqs?
Naturally, this pro-Imperial, pro-Hasiko strain of Shariq nationalism proved unpopular with most Shariq nationalist, although Mitunbaal has published some articles in support of her fringe views under a pen-name.
More recently, Mitunbaal has found herself back in Inbur after a trip to mountains in the north of Shariq land, believed to be the starting point of the old blight, with the scarred land and mutated flora and fauna to prove it. Standing at the foot of the mountain where all that madness had started was humbling in a sense. Being at the epicenter of the near doom of her people carried a message of how small she was in the grand scheme that struck home harder than any book.
The question of why still gnawed at her, and she pushed herself to move further, to discover, to learn. To understand. Her companions, meanwhile, understood that venturing into or up a mountain that once held a true evil that killed untold people was likely not the greatest idea for their continued existence. With a struggle more verbal than physical, the party pulled Mitunbaal back to camp.
In Inbur, the rising tensions never bothered Mitunbaal’s own little world beyond uneasy dinners and increased political debate, until the Calarians finally crossed the border. Then the university exploded like a bomb. Young students swore for both sides turning the dormitories into brawling rings as quickly formed gangs targeted rivals. Archivists, including Mitunbaal, scrambled to evacuate reference material as the Calarians approached. She was in the libraries as the first shells landed in the city center.
Scrambling out of the building, she joined the mass of civilians trying to leave with what belongings she could carry. Evading the communalists, their infiltrators, and the fighting the best she could. She worked her way through side streets, until she found herself cornered by two insurrectionists. Muttering a prayer to herself, Mitunbaal closed her eyes while the sounds of hoofbeats grew closer and closer. A pistol shot shattered the tension, followed by another scream and the sound of a body hitting the floor.
Without hesitation, she rushed the cavalryman and mounted before he could say a word. With barely a nod of an acknowledgment, he slowly brought his horse back up to a cantor.
