A Lowly Wretch

Blackguards!

<Snipped quote by An Outsider>

Oh! I love delivery! Wet armor, not so much.

@Expendable

Wet armor? That's Gangraena's middle name.

Blackguards!

Speaking of levity I have my post up. Decided to have Gang strike up a conversation with the local vampire by merit of both being in the river when they were dropped.

Blackguards!

Gangraena

---

The interior of the sack peeled away to reveal a room with several other people in it. A nice woman had gone and removed the bag from her head. That made her happy.

"Thaaaank yooouu..." An uncharacteristically feminine voice emanated from the tall thrall of metal. It sounded like a chipper lady of some youth, a voice like a spring's morning. The voice was distorted however, echoing out from the helm like it was being spoken from the bottom of an unfathomably deep chasm yet still clear and understandable as the words of someone standing next to them would be. Her words were dragged out too, the vowels stretched long like a suspenseful violin note as the hapless victim slowly pushes open the door, revealing the horror that lurked beyond it's threshold.

Needless to say her friendliness was well undercut by her uncanniness.

Only towards the end of her dialogue did Gangraena finally look up and grasp her in full: The Warden of The Maw. Like the figurehead upon a mast she stood, beckoning to them all as she laid forth her demands. With a voice not unlike the crackling of frost beneath her boots and a figure that was... Female, that much she could make out of her.

It was like those stars she'd see whenever she was low on oxygen, back when breathing was still a concern for her. It was akin to those fleeting sparkles, ephemeral as they bled in and out of view except in this case The Warden was no sparkle, quite the opposite. It sort of reminded her of something she saw, long long ago, so long in fact it felt like trying to recall a face...

A face from before she was born.

But that was impossible, no? After all her earliest memories were all a fog of walking and recollections of the surface before she'd sunk. Perhaps people who seemed oddly juxtaposed over reality itself just had that kind of face you'd swear you'd recognized even though you just met. She really couldn't tell.

Snapping briefly out of her ponderings Gangraena overheard something about killing a god or what-not. Truth be told she was only halfway paying attention to what was actually being said. Of course, even if she had warned them it would of come as a surprise nonetheless when the room seemed to fold away, spilling the earth unto them once more. Of course, the darkness hid no secrets from her so it merely seemed as though she'd been buried now. Not really a step up from drowning if she had to be honest.

---

Elsewhere...

---

Of course when the pocket of reality they had been stuck in finally peeled away she dropped with a thunk and a splash, landing a bit up the river from where everyone else had been sent. Water flowed around her prone form like it was yet another stone in the path, seeping into what parts of her armor were submerged. As she braced her hands against the rock-strewn riverbed the very ground seemed to strain under the force of her lifting herself up onto her knees so she could then gather up onto her feet. It was a task that would seem impossible on any ordinary person as the armor's very designed screamed heavy and unwieldy but she made it look as natural as getting up in pajamas. Water flowed out from her helmet, the state of the being beneath it unseen by the world around.

She took a step forward only for a handle to prod into her chestplate. Looking down she let out a ghastly gasp of delight upon discovering her anchor jutting up, the anchor's head partially imbedded in the muddy earth over which the water glided.

"Myyy Aaanchoor! Yyaaayy!"

With a merry cheery from the hollow knight she embraced the nautical tool turned murder weapon in a great big hug. Her weapon returned she was now complete and ready to tackle this new adventure! Err... After she figured out what exactly that was. Whilst wrapping the six or so meters of age old chain that hung from the loop which now served as this weapon's pommel around her torso for ease of carrying she looked around. In the distance some others were awakening, talking could be heard though she couldn't make out exactly what yet. More directly in view was a lady washing her bare skin down with sand and water. Slinging the weighty anchor over her shoulder she started meandering her way over to strike up a conversation of her own and perhaps figure out what they were even supposed to do.

"Ssooo... Waaardens hhuuhh? Aare theeeyy crraazyy oorr whaat?..." The strange figure which loomed over the smaller one jested, their odd voice not really complimenting the more casual air she was hoping to strike.

"Haaahaaahaaa..." She then laughed at her own joke. It was not a disingenuous laugh either, simply a mirthful droning guffaw at the silliness of it all.

Blackguards!

@Red Wizard Sweet. I'll have a fun interaction regarding her returned anchor next post.

Blackguards!

@Red Wizard Sweet.

A question: Our characters were given their listed equipment back. Would that include their weapons or just all else?

Blackguards!

Got my post up. Gangraena cannot sleep so instead they just threw a bag over her head and left her there.

Blackguards!

Gangraena

---

There she stood. For time longer than most could count deep down in perhaps the deepest depth of The Maw she stood, sealed in an iron cage at the bottom of a pit. When they first brought her weakened body to this place they tried to pry her loose from her armor but the mundane staff found the task most complex. The armor itself seemed reluctant to release her so instead they opted for a simpler answer. They sealed her inside a cage and then lowered that cage into a deep, deep pit. They figured even if she broke out from the cage there was no way she could climb all the way up and break her way through the grating they had placed at the top just in case.

Gangraena hadn't made an effort to break out of the cage. The last time she tried that they threatened to break her anchor and that would make her sad so down in the bottom she waited. Minutes turned to hours turned to days turned to months to possibly years and yet she remained, standing there like a decorative suit of armor for all that those who occasionally patrolled the top of the pit could tell. Eventually even they grew bored of watching something that neither moved more even needed food nor water. Effectively they had just dropped her to the bottom of a pit and forgot about her.

Of course, not everyone forgot her.

Why else then would one day they would drag her cage up from the bottom of the pit, horses pulling the chain hooked onto the top of it and looped through a pulley for easier lift. They threw a tarp over the top of the cage. Some of the guards speculated the creature within wasn't even alive anymore, just a corpse resting in a metal shell. Such was why they questioned the need for the tarp in the first place but the warden demanded it be covered and so it was done. There was no arguing directives from above down in The Maw, at least where any living soul could hear.

They weren't wrong about her. A corpse resting in a metal shell, an apt description. A lifeless corpse she was not however. After so long staring at the same walls however she seemed to slump back into her old routine, just repeating the last thing she was doing and dreaming of a life once lived, of things she once knew like light and the sun and flowers and such.

The only thing to cause her to stir was what happened when they reached their destination: a room which at this point was empty for the most part. After someone removed the tarp upon her cage another threw a sack cloth bag over her head, keeping her vision impaired still. Apparently it was also the Warden's orders. None of this stirred her however, at least not until she was pushed out from the confines of her cage by a long wooden stick. Landing on her face with a thud the armor seemed immobile for a bit before she began to stir within. Something was happening... Or was it just her imagination?

---

Some time later...

---

Voices, movement, the sounds of others being laid down in the room. Something was being set up here. She had half a mind to stand up and try to take a look around. Of course, she hadn't. Not until a voice both hollow and crisp spoke directly to her, it's direction unknown.

Stand up

Oh good! Somebody to talk to! She missed having conversations so. Thus, Gangraena got up. It wasn't the command that compelled her but rather just something she'd do anyways, it was just nice that they asked. Looking around she soon realized the room was still pitch black. Why was that? She wondered to herself as she stood there, a looming silent statue of metal or so she appeared to any else who were looking her way at that time. Anyone else could also notice that this figure still had a bag over it's head, the cause as to why she still couldn't see anything.

Of course, she'd gotten so used to standing around that it hadn't crossed her mind yet to try and check to see if something was blocking her vision. She simply stood, unspeaking, unmoving save for the faint turning below the sack that sat over her head while she attempted to look around in vain.

Harold's Academy for the Magically Inclined

Walter Ozwyrd

---

Day 1 ◈ Time: Dusk/Evening ◈ Weather: Light Rain ◈Location: Harold's Academy, Outside the Ballroom ◈ Participants: Walter Ozwyrd
@A Lowly Wretch, Professor Incanowitz @Aeolian

---

---

♫

Hunched over the prone form of the gravely wounded professor Walter had a choice to make:

Try to rescue the professor or pilot the seraphim.

While he felt grossly unqualified to take the mantle of a seraphim pilot and feared that without medical treatment the old guy would probably die the main issue was the likely hood of being able to escort him to the infirmary in time, also measured against the likelihood of whether the infirmary was still standing or if had already been abandoned... Or worse.

If he were to escort him to safety in the high likelihood that they were attacked it was all but certain that either one or both of them would die. He had managed to successfully slay one Pupa and a fair bit of luck played into that. If fortune decided not to favor him then a single pupa could still get the best of him. Worse yet if any more than one pupa attacks him at once there was no way he could successfully stand his ground. One would occupy him while the other would catch him unaware and it would take little more than one stray stab to quickly end his desperate struggle. If the professor wasn't wounded so badly the odds would not be so uneven but such is as it was.

_
"C'mon! Up you stand. We're going to the seraphim." Ordered Walter, hoisting the older man up by the arm and slinging it over his shoulder so he might act as a sort of crutch for him.

"Wh... What? I-, ah-" Incanowitz struggled through the pain, trying to clear his mind enough to comprehend just what Walter was trying to do. "I- I cannot... In this state I'd d-die trying... trying to pilot." It hurt his pride to say but all the same he could not sacrifice a working seraphim to sate his pride, to believe what he knows is not true, not now.

"Yeah, you probably would. That's why you're gonna tell me how to fly this thing." Walter hauled forth, burdening upon his light frame a larger man than he as he made his way to the great machine with as much haste as he possessed. Incanowitz looked down at him, a mixture of surprise and some skepticism. While it was no doubt dangerous to send forth a student with basically zero experience piloting a seraphim there was few others still around able to fill the seat. Walter had vim but little else going for him. All the same, he was impressed with his drive and an inexperienced pilot was still a better candidate than one who flitted between bouts of consciousness, struggling simply to keep the fragments of his skull from rattling loose about the mess of neurons he still had working.

"Hrr... You will need to, hrng, enter through the mouth. It should respond to a vitess infusion, allowing you to open... Open the way inside." As he limped along, barely able to stand as the kid did most of the walking for him, he gestured to a spot nearby. Some rubble had fallen, forming a small cover just large enough and deep enough to tuck someone in so they're unseen from outside. "Over there. Set me down. I'll tell you... T-tell you what to do." Just as he was instructed Walter took him over, leaning him against the wall the rubble was resting against so he wouldn't slide back down onto his back like before.

"Once... Once inside you will enter the brain. A s-seat will await you. sit within, place your... h-hands in the folds next to your sides. L-let it flow into it. Pull it's limbs. F-force it to walk, to swing, to... to fight."

"Right! I'll quickly go dust some Ni-Seraphs then come right back t'get ya some help you hear!" Walter assured the professor. Pained breaths and a shallow nod were his only reply. Things weren't looking good for him. All the same, nobody else would be any better off if the Ni-Seraph were not stopped before they reached the school. The wind cast droplets of water from the back of his coat and the rim of his hat as he turned to face the seraphim. It seemed to stare out, daring any to rise to the challenge.

_
Flying up to it's mouth Walter looked befuddled, wondering just how he was expected to enter if it's mouth was closed. He approached the inert colossus and pressed his palm against the bottom lip. "Well, here goes nothing." He spoke aloud to nobody in particular before focusing on his hand, envisioning energy flowing through it into the surface it rested upon in an effort to will it forth.

He gave a start as glowing lines lit up, the energy flowing forth like water through transparent channels across it's surface. The cobalt blue essence infused the lip, resulting in it opening as if it were a reflex. The maw was now open, the entrance to this great mechanical beast now agape before him.

Tentatively but with some urgency he slipped into the stony mouth of the machine. It felt quite wholly unnatural for him, a human, to climb inside the mouth of something that mirrored monsters who used great winds to pull their victims into their mouths. This was, after all, the petrified body of one such Ni-Seraph, given new purpose through technomancy. He quickly looked about, partially in awe of standing inside this man-altered wonder but nonetheless the task at hand kept him mind focused on progressing. Right at the back the roof of the mouth gave way to an opening which led up into the brain proper where the seat of the pilot laid. He ventured up to find himself in something wholly unfamiliar, one might say alien even.

Cold stone grey neurons all laid pressed up against every corner of the room, from the walls to the roof and even the floor though most of it was bathed in darkness save for the small amount of light coming from the vitesse powered veins beneath Walter's feet, lines tracing out along the intended path. He took a couple investigative steps forward, his hands brushing up against a sort of railing which he then grabbed onto. As soon as he did more lines snaked out from his palm along the rail, tracing up a post leading up into the darkness. Within a moment the whole room lit up with lines, illuminating the sealed chamber with it's ambient cobalt glow.

♫

It was like if someone had cracked open the head of a sea dragon and pushed aside it's brain so they could stick a bunch of stuff inside. In the middle of the room safely kept behind the railing the inert brain matter seemed pushed up against where the pilot's seat was located, a chair of fine decor like one a person could find at an upper-class parlour, only divorced from it's more terrestrial identity upon seeing the many wires, tubing, straps and metal restraints that adorned it. He cautiously stepped forward until he found himself at the seat proper, sitting himself upon it and then applying the straps where needed. Right above the chair loomed a wide obsidian mirror, square and held fast using a brass frame of sorts. It was hooked up with many wires as well, hanging from a jointed metal support that was anchored to the ceiling.

Now fixed to the seat, feeling like he's more set up for the electric chair than the pilot's seat, he set his hands into two stony crevices set in the cold grey neuron nodules, reaching into something that was probably once organic. Once he could feel the metal palm pads against his hands he attempted to focus energy through them not unlike how he did at mouth of the machine. His teeth grit and fingers tensed when the restrained hummed to life shortly before holding him fast. He was immobile now, cold metal pressed against his hands, neck and ankles. The mirror seemed to lower on it's own, orienting itself into the center of his field of view before illuminating all on it's own. It was not the same latent blue energy that flowed but rather a cohesive image, not unlike those spun by some of the illusionists at school. The image was that of the view of the school, Ni-Seraph's in the distance currently combating the teachers and some others. He was puzzled until it clicked: This was the view from the very eyes of the Seraphim, looking ahead from where it stood.

_
Any who were outside could see or at the very least hear as the large stone colossus attempted to step forward, only to drop to it's hands and knees. As more vitesse saturated the seraphim it's stone became pliable, joint's crunching with dust and other matter. Old air that was trapped within it's chest escaped as it's chest flexed, pushing with it's hands against the ground in an attempt to right itself back up again. Awkwardly it lifted, stumbling a bit before managing to stand proper. Inside he was still getting to grips with the mechanics of this whole piloting business. He wasn't aware that to manipulate the feet he needed to take his boots off first and was hastily trying to shake them off his feet so he could operate the foot pads in time.

Meanwhile he was still figuring out just what interaction produced which motion. It felt like trying to move in a dream, willing a motion only to see it but there was minimal feedback, like he was moving underwater. He could tell when a limb would come into contact with something and stop but there was none of the other tactile feedback he was so accustomed to. One other student he had spoken to had likened it to moving a marionette, extending strings throughout and pulling them to puppeteer the vessel in a sort of manner. He wasn't sure if this is what he would call puppeteering but right now at the very least he could say his vessel had the stability of a questionably stringed marionette.

Finally able to engage with his feet he took a couple baby steps before needing to stabilize himself against the nearby building. The roof cracked and roof tiles shattered, clattering down as the whole building rumbled under the seraphim's weight.

"Aaallrighty now... Nice n' easy..." He assured himself as he stood his seraphim back up. Looking ahead he identified where the Ni-Seraph's were fighting. This was it, the moment all this buildup was waiting for. It was time to sail in and save the day, so to speak. With the gusto of duty and everyone's lives hanging on his next choices he took two steps forward and...

Aw crud, how do I fly with this thing again?

Blackguards!

@Emeth - Thank you! It should be interesting to play out her easy-going attitude with a business as usual attitude towards violence, seeing how that plays against the rest of the cast's first impressions of her and what-not.

@Spin The Wheel - The Turtle Knights were always one of the more interesting enemy types introduced in DS2. Another dude in big armor yes but unique in design and memorable from all the rest. Shame they never made a return in the latter games.

Blackguards!

Gangraena

Gangraena

---

---

Name

Gangraena

Race

Undead Proto-Human

Gender

Female

Age

Unknown, even to her.

Appearance

Standing at around one hundred and eighty four centimeters and weighing ninety kilograms (two hundred and four kilograms while armored) this terrifying undead warrior commands an imposing presence on the battlefield. While fighting foes might give wonder as to how this threat manages to even move under the layers upon layers of armor that's been bolted onto the suit over time, let alone so deftly, but even the wildest speculations fail to capture just what exactly lurks in the dark recesses of this metal behemoth.

For a corpse that has been lost in the great oceans for eras upon eras she looks relatively okay, albeit still wholly unearthly as something returned from a watery grave might. Her flesh remains largely unscoured by the tides and while patches here and there have been nicked and pierced the only major sign of deterioration is the hollow sockets that remain where once eyes rested. Any who stare into them would find only not even the back of her skull to gaze upon, just an infinite abyss with the only feature standing out from it being a distant yellow light, one for each socket, like a gleaming star far up into the ever vast night sky.

Apart from that eyes her skin is blue from asphyxiation and her hair remains a disheveled kelp green color, a characteristic of her ancient and long forgotten heritage. Her droning voice seems to echo from her, originating from her chest but also not. Her build is broad, lean but muscular as she was a warrior once in life, just as she continues to be in death. She is rarely seen outside her armor, though for the time being her recent defeat and subjugation at the hands of the warden have left her equipment in their mercy.

Personality

Terrifying, brutal, relentless. These are words all who've fought her would use to describe her save her last foe.

Actually talking to her however and you'd realize that this large imposing zombie is actually quite pleasantly chipper, albeit slow of speech and a fair bit confused to the world as a whole. Though she has no need to eat nor drink nor even sleep she enjoys the simple things in life. A glorious sunrise, a calm meadow, the smattering of light through a tree's canopy or even a merry tune, Gangraena doesn't need much and is rather happy with what she gets. She is no stranger to violence and speaks it's language well but she rarely means ill of it. It's simply something that she does, both a mere fact of life and the mercenary business where she plies her trade readily and without much question.

Having spent as much time lost in the deepest recesses of the ocean floor for as long as she has she's developed a great amount of patience, years passing not unlike the days themselves. She's not one for long grudges nor great bouts of anger. She is also not overly critical of others for their vices, beliefs or characteristics. The whole world is strange to her but she welcomes it's many wonders as well as any break from monotony or solitude.

One oddity about her is that she herself isn't terribly clear on who she is herself. She has memories of her past but so much time has past their details have grown fuzzy, inaccurate even. As for what she even is she hasn't much the faintest clue either.

Background

Gangraena was born long ago, in a civilization that predates many kingdoms of man. In an era of things lost to the ages, where humanity flourished before a great fall cast it all under the rug of history, a time once mere myth now simply forgotten, there was a family of great warriors who fought on behalf of the glory of their gods. This family bore three brothers and six daughters, one of which was named Gangraena. She was the strongest of them all, able to move most naturally in heavier armor. Her wits however were perhaps as sharp as her mace. She never had an affinity for matters of great complexity, always a creature of simplicity. Despite her shortcomings she was still deemed fit to fight the unnatural in the names of their gods.

Of course, she would never see her first crusade as the waves claimed her before any blade, tooth or claw could. When a terrible storm struck her sea vessel the chains around an anchor bound her leg and drug her overboard once it's restraints had snapped. Like a metal pebble in a great big pond she sank in her heavy plated suit of armor, now a watery coffin as she swiftly drowned. This was the end of Gangraena.

_
When her body reached the ocean floor however something else happened upon her corpse, one of a few that were brought down there and not by chance. These drowned were selected and drawn to an ancient altar lost to the tides from times ancient even back in these times lost to time. Upon this altar an ancient being that remained trapped below the great waters sewed into these vessels dark spirits which animated them. These dark spirits would take these new shells of theirs and return to the surface and sew the ancient being's influence about the world once more, corrupting and weakening it until the time was right for it to escape it's oceanic prison and consume the world just as it tried to do once before.

The dark spirits kept the memories of the drowned as a guide to help them navigate the surface. Many of them ventured forth, each one meeting any number of different fates, none truly successful. Gangraena's host however did not find it's way back to the surface. Due to being bound to both her body, her armor and her anchor as it could not discern them apart from one another the dark spirit could not simply float up from the depths like the others. This dark spirit was forced to wander, anchored to the ocean floor as it trudged through valleys deeper than any known to the surface world, over mountains taller than any that could be found above. Due to inheriting the drowned's poor sense of direction it remained lost for countless centuries, walking to and fro across the vast ocean landscape, often times finding itself going in circles.

This continued for so long that the spirit's own mind started to warp. Delirious from the ceaseless tedium of wandering without ever finding land this dark spirit started finding itself mixing it's own memories up with that of the host it had taken. What once was a map slowly grew to become it's identity as it eventually lost sight of it's very purpose. It no longer remembered the very purpose it was given to this host for, nor of the being that put it inside this shell in the first place. All that it knew for real mingled with the life that Gangraena had known until a muddy sheet of indistinct memories both native and inherited blurred into one single past. All that it cared for now was to find the surface. It couldn't remember why it wanted to but it seemed like the right thing to do.

_
Eventually the dark spirit who believed itself to be the very shell it inhabited found it's way to dry land. What she found delighted her as she wandered the beaches until shortly happening upon a humble fishing village. The villagers were frightened but reluctant to flee and abandon all their belongings. Instead they complied to her wishes and relieved to find that she was relatively peaceful, speaking in an unknown language with an eerie voice but not aggressive. It was here that she started learning the land's language, listening to the village people speak and figuring out their words while she helped chop and carry firewood for them during her stay.

Eventually a mercenary company by the name of The Grey Auxilliary docked at their little village for supplies and happened upon Gangraena. Now able to carry a rudimentary conversation she spoke with the captain of these mercenaries, impressing them with her unnatural might. Seeing if this strange being was amicable they offered her employment and she accepted. To them this might of been the breakthrough they needed to help stand out from other upcoming mercenary companies and earn themselves a reputation. To her this was just another chance to see and experience new things while also getting the chance to fight which was fun too.

A decade of fighting later and this company had slowly but surely dwindled until only their captain and Gangranea remained. Their times together were glorious and many a battle was won but unlike Gangraena the men and women of this company were mortal. Be it death in combat, injury or longing to start a family the various members of their crew each fell way whilst Gangraena remained, an unchanging feature which had cemented herself in this company's renown. Their leader, old man Grey Hound was growing too old and injured to fight himself too. Seeing as Gangraena had kept with them through the greatest times of their career he passed leadership of the company onto her before he retired from the life of a mercenary to enjoy his hard earned cash.

Gangraena was now the only remaining member of The Grey Auxiliary. She never made an effort to recruit more members, largely as the very thought never entered her head. Instead she simply kept taking jobs and killing on behalf of those who'd give her money, stripping away armor from those she slays and crudely bolting them onto her platemail which is how she eventually became a metal behemoth of some fame amongst warriors around. It seemed she wasn't weakening either, her strength no longer comparable to mortal men and women of mundane make.

However with fame comes attention and her exploits eventually drew the ire of the king himself. Whatever his reasons he set up a trap, a false job which she took. Upon arrival she was swarmed with men. Their weapons could not best her great armor and their own protections offered no safety from the great anchor she swung with the same grace and precision one would swing a sword. Of course there was something present that she had not encountered yet: Magic. Divine casters beseeched their god and smote her with their holy magic. Not able to guard against it she eventually collapsed, men rushing her prone form and lashing her down with ropes and chains. While she had not perished again from their divine assault as she had grown quite powerful, enough even to withstand more than most undead could ever hope to, she was not able to continue the fight in her state. Fighting more would of simply resulted in her dying again and that didn't sound fun.

Thus, she resides now in the oubliette of great threats simply known as The Maw. Amongst the most dangerous foes the king's laid claim to for purposes known only to himself and select others she finally fits in, though there's still not a lot of things truly like her.

At least, none where anyone can find them.

Talents

Starting with her skills she is a trained warrior, educated from youth in warfare and battle. Having spent a decade putting that knowledge to use has helped in giving her the practical experience she needed to become an experienced warrior, honing her skills against many a foe. Her other skills and knowledges largely compliment her trade, having a basic knowledge of metal and leather working so that she may upkeep her weapon and armor.

As for her abilities her most noticeable features are that of undeath. Being undead she has no need for food, water or even sleep. She can see in the dark no less than she can in the day and she is not beholden to fatigue. Without pain she cannot feel discomfort from heat or cold, only suffering degradation to her material form from extremes of either temperature. All that can stand to put an end to her once and for all would be destruction of her material form or magic of sufficient potency, her organs only remaining because nothing has given them cause to leave her body.

Her true power however comes from the more sinister function of her dark spirit: The ability to devour the souls of those slain by her. The spirit passively consumes the souls of her victims, unaware that it's even doing so. With each soul devoured Gangraena slowly gains in might, little by little. This is what has given Gangraena the strength of ten grown men and also part of how Gangraena wears her armor and wields her anchor so easily. The dark spirit partially haunts the armor and anchor so it lets Gangraena move them around almost like they were her own limbs. In time as the spirit gains strength she may be able to eventually even move her armor and weapon on their own with her very mind, albeit slowly to start. What else might rise from her spiritual growth remains unknown to many, herself included.

Aside from all that Gangraena also possesses an immunity to the damaging influences of the ocean due to an old pact between it and the entity her dark spirit was manifested from. She will suffer neither deterioration from the salty waters nor be crushed by the weight of the depths and many of the predators which lurk deep in the dark waters below will simply ignore Gangraena unless she threatens their safety.

Flaws

As an undead creature her greatest flaw is that she does not heal naturally. Any harm dealt unto her physical vessel must be repaired manually using parts from another body to fill in for what is missing. These parts may inherit her will but will not carry her strength until they've remained with her for some time, the longer the better. Much the same applies to her armor and weapon, both needing upkeep when damaged as they are a part of her. Being separated from her armor reduced her overall might by a third and once again should she be separated from her anchor, reducing her down to a single third of her original might.

Being an undead creature magic that affects the undead will affect her similarly, weakened by her overall might but all the same a hurdle unique to undead like her. As for her darkvision while she is able to see in the dark no less than she can in the day she cannot see colors, her entire worldview stuck perpetually in monochrome. There are also certain limitations imposed by her armor's design such as a limited field of view and range of motion allowed for her arms. Practice has allowed her to better work around these but only to an extent.

As a person her biggest weakness is that she is a simple creature at heart. She doesn't plan far or deep, has no talent for complex ideas and can become easily confused in this world now well removed from the one she faintly remembers. If someone needs a person with quick wits and an even quicker tongue to solve a predicament then she'd be the last candidate to ask.

Worst of all is that she came with obligations. She may have forgotten them but something out there still remembers and is still waiting... Watching.

Equipment

The only equipment kept by Gangraena are those she perished with: Her plated armor and her anchor. Both are crafted initially with fine steel, iron and other such terrestrial metals being slapped on to patch them until both armor and weapon now resemble a patchwork of different fixes. Despite this they are also partially haunted by her dark spirit, each a part of her no less than her arms or legs. You can take the armor off Gangraena but you cannot take Gangraena off the armor, at least, not without deep arcane know-how.

Miscellaneous

Gangraena is left-handed.