I miss writing. Alot. Journaling is all well and good, but there's something about creative writing. I get excited about it! So, here's to a year of doing what excites me. It's time for a change.
Basically, it's an elf born from the coupling of an elf and a dragon in a mortal guise. This is how Althea got her pyromantic abilities, and I figure, since elves are so elitist, that this is a mark of shame. She's not a pureblood elf, which means she's considered lower class and possibly dangerous. Of course, she also doesn't go around showing off her ability to control fire for this very reason.
Inspirational Image "Guilt is the source of sorrows, the avenging fiend that follows us behind with whips and stings." -Nicholas Rowe
Name/Nicknames: Unknown, though she typically goes by Vigilance or some other alias ((Her actual name is Narcissa Veclis))
Race: Wyrmblood Ljosalfr
Age: Vigilance stopped counting after her four-hundredth birthday ((She's five hundred years old))
Despite looking like a human woman in her early thirties, Narcissa Veclis is quite old for an elf. Signs of her age are easy to spot if one knows what to look for, though her hair is the most visible indicator. It's the color of newly-fallen snow, and the she-elf keeps it short so it stops just above her jawline. She will occasionally braid it tightly to her head for important events or whenever she needs to impress someone. Narcissa is also rather tall, standing at about 6'2", and has a willowy build with few curves to speak of. However, her body is still toned and fit thanks to years of training with her uncle, her time as an SSPD officer, and her obsession with waging a one woman war against Santa Somabra's lawbreakers. The light elf also has wide hips, a gift from her mother's side of the family, which she finds vexing beyond words. While she obviously can't stand toe-to-toe with an ogre, the bounty killer called Vigilance has a wiry strength and agility that has served her well over the years.
Her face, while possessing the same otherworldly beauty found in all elves, has started to show signs of aging in the form of crow's feet and frown lines. The wyrmblood rarely covers these blemishes. She's 500 years old and her movements are growing stiffer with every passing year. Why hide the obvious? At any rate, Narcissa's skin is only a shade darker than her hair, which gives her an ethereal, almost wraith-like appearance. This impression is only heightened by her cold, unforgiving gray eyes. Oddly enough, the light elf woman has dainty feet for someone with such an ominous appearance.
When embracing her "work persona", Narcissa dons a suit of form-fitting leather armor made from cured ogre hide, which is capable of stopping two to three bullets before rupturing. This black-dyed armor was made especially for Narcissa by a dokkalfr leatherworker living in Santa Somabra's red light district. Supposedly, the she-elf warrior saved the craftsman's daughter from the Gilded Cage, an infamous whorehouse owned by the Nyctari family. Whether or not this event actually occurred is up for debate, though Vigilance is rumored to have a long-standing feud with the bloodsucking criminals. She has never once accepted a contract from the Nyctari over the course of her career. Regardless, this set of hand-crafted armor includes a chestpiece, gorget, bracers, gloves, leggings and boots. The dark elf, who may or may not have been the legendary Mankar Deslandra, also reached out to a friend and procured a black linen cloak for his daughter's savior. Coupled with her twin pure iron swords, which once belonged to Bardolan "The Grim" Veclis, and her dual pistols, Vigilance radiates an aura of deadly competence and self-assurance capable of unnerving even the boldest thugs. Of course, the elf doesn't go anywhere without her trusty silver flask hanging from her belt alongside these tools of destruction.
Perhaps the most terrifying aspect of Vigilance's "uniform" is her death mask, a ceramic covering cast in the shape of an elven skull. Traditionally, both light and dark elves place these masks over the faces of their deceased kinsmen to prepare them for the trials of the afterlife. Wearing one at any point prior to death is considered extremely foolhardy and tasteless. Narcissa doesn't give a flying goblin's ass about such superstitious nonsense. Whenever she's acting on behalf of the Bloodbloom Syndicate or prowling the streets in search of prey, her face is covered by this death mask. Humorously, Narcissa can often be seen wearing simple t-shirts, jeans, and sneakers when she's not busy slaughtering her way through Santa Somabra's underworld. Only her mistress, Nyxvira Bloodbloom, can command the ljosalfr to wear anything close to formal attire.
Finally, Narcissa's low-range soprano voice has an unusual, almost archaic English accent, and she peppers her speech with antiquated words and sayings.
Unlike most elves, Narcissa isn't necessarily elitist, though this isn't because she's convinced the lesser races have something worthwhile to offer her people. She still believes dark and light elves are superior to everyone else. As a wyrmblood, however, the bounty killer has been persecuted by her kind, including her own mother, since she was a child. She's seen how far elves will go in the name of keeping their blood pure. This has forced her to admit that most of the First Children are intolerant, arrogant, and cruel at the best of times. Furthermore, Narcissa is smart enough to acknowledge the accomplishments of others despite her belief that an elf probably could've done a better job. Still, this fear of prejudice and rejection has warped the way the ancient she-elf interacts with those around her. In short, she doesn't trust people. Trust leads to complacency, and Narcissa knows she cannot afford to let her guard down for even one second. That's how you wind up face down in a gutter in the red light district.
However, after the death of her lover, Myranda Tavellan, the ljosalfr called Vigilance is trying to open herself up again. It's not working particularly well.
Part of the problem is the elf's very presence seems to give off an air of glacial indifference and unfathomable loneliness, though she endures as best she can by drinking and smoking whenever life becomes unbearable. Regrettably, the death of Myranda also soured Narcissa's already pessimistic worldview, and what passes for the light elf's dry sense of humor reflects this change. Her jokes are cutting, sarcastic, and occasionally vicious. In addition, Vigilance appears to lack any empathy whatsoever for the many people she's hurt while pursuing those unfortunate fools wanted by Santa Somabra's criminal elite. Many believe the elderly ljosalfr is an unfeeling, heartless monster. She loyally serves whoever is willing to give her the most money for a job while simultaneously killing as many drug dealers, slavers, and thugs as possible. After all, what better way to cleanse the city that took Myranda from her than from the inside? At least, that's what she told herself when she swore an oath of fealty to Nyxvira Bloodbloom three years ago.
Truthfully, Narcissa is constantly wrestling with the overwhelming guilt brought on by the Great Fire of 1985, a disaster she caused that left an entire city block in ruins. Over 200 people were killed, including Myranda Tavellan, and the Somabra Clock Tower was burned to the ground. The light elf copes with this by drinking, smoking, and fighting to convince herself that she returned to Santa Somabra in hopes of redeeming herself. How? By destroying the formidable gangs running amok in the streets one member at a time. By slaughtering the most treacherous and monstrous individuals she can find. By offering up 200 blackened, corrupted souls as penance for the innocent men, women, and children she destroyed. Of course, seeing her activities as a righteous crusade is much more appealing than facing the painful truth. Narcissa wants to die. She returned to the place where her last hope for a better life perished in hopes of dying a hero's death.
In 1519, Narcissa Veclis was born to Althea Veclis and a dragon disguised as a ljosalfr outside the city of Truro in Cornwall. Narcissa's childhood was unpleasant to say the least. After her husband left one night without warning, Althea began drinking heavily, and she blamed her daughter for her beloved's departure. One of her favorite insults to throw at her child was "wyrmblood," a slur referring to Narcissa's mixed parentage. Beatings were frequent and often ended with Althea sobbing into a bottle while Narcissa lay bleeding on the floor. Unfortunately for the elven girl, her mother maintained a small farm beyond Truro's outskirts so visitors were few and far between. Besides, who wanted to deal with the town drunkard and her timid, red-haired daughter? There were times when Narcissa felt trapped, like a princess in a fairy tale, and she desperately wished someone would come rescue her.
Shortly after the light elf's 100th birthday, everything changed.
A ljosalfr named Celebron Rommath, a traveler from eastern Cornwall, came to visit Truro under the pretense of selling high-quality bolts of cloth and spices to the cityfolk. In truth, he was following a rumor. A rumor about a young elven girl with hair the color of an open wound. Red hair was a sign of impure blood among elves; specifically that dragon's blood flowed through that particular individual's veins. Upon arriving at the Veclis farmstead, Celebron was aghast to see Narcissa out in the fields, helping her mother with the animals and crops. Was the woman mad? All half-elves were abominations, but the so-called gifts bestowed upon wyrmbloods by their draconic heritage made them impossibly dangerous. Celebron knew he had to act.
After being invited into the house for a midday meal, Celebron made a few casual, insulting remarks about Althea's home, hoping to provoke Narcissa into using her powers. It worked. The enraged light elf girl nearly set the stranger's head ablaze. As Celebron ran screaming from the house, Althea, who'd always known what her daughter was, ordered Narcissa to leave and never return. The truth was out, and it was only a matter of time before the elves living in Truro decided having a wyrmblood living so close to the city was a terrible idea.
The year was 1619, and a terrified Narcissa was forced to run away from home as a mob of pitchfork and torch-wielding elves descended on her mother's farm. Althea's last words to her daughter were, "You will never find peace here in Cornwall, my little halfbreed. Find a ship bound for the New World, stow yourself somewhere onboard, and go to Jamestown. Seek out my brother, Bardolan. Tell him...tell him that you're his niece, and I am certain he'll take you in. He must. Now go before I decide to offer you up to this rabble." Reeling from the unexpected loss of her mother, the frightened wyrmblood tried to hide in the woods near the farm, but Celebron and his followers pursued her. The hundred-year old light elf struggled to reach the small port of Newquay, and then hid herself aboard a fishing vessel called The Princess. The irony wasn't lost on the miserable child as she sobbed quietly amongst the barrels of pickled herring in the cargo hold. She may have escaped from her mother, but at what cost? She was still considered a child in the eyes of her people. How could she possibly survive this?
The voyage across the sea was difficult, but Narcissa finally reached the bustling settlement of Jamestown, Virginia. After spending several hungry nights wandering the streets, she stumbled upon the smithy run by her uncle, Bardolan "The Grim" Veclis. She told him what had transpired in Cornwall, and the elderly ljosalfr wordlessly took her into his home. He promised to take care of her to the best of his ability before returning to his forge. Once she'd recovered from her journey and felt capable of coping with her situation, Narcissa began helping her uncle with his work, learning a little about the blacksmith's trade in the process. She also discovered that Bardolan was one of the few remaining elves who knew how to shape true iron, which was also called blue and pure iron. Capable of cutting through almost anything, excluding mithril and other rare metals, pure iron was almost impossible to shape without the proper technique. Luckily for Bardolan, he'd trained with some of the finest weaponsmiths and swordmasters in the world. And he'd learned a great deal.
Three weeks after Narcissa's 110th birthday, her uncle took her aside and told her there was something he wanted to show her. Bardolan guided his niece to a small chamber at the back of his house, which he normally kept locked, and opened it, revealing what appeared to be a training room with various true iron weapons hanging from the walls. "It is time, blood of my blood," the old elf said, his dark green eyes shining with delight. "For me to teach you how to defend yourself. Like me, you do not possess the gift of magic, which separates us from other ljosalfar. Also, you are a wyrmblood, which means others of our kind will always try to destroy you. I refuse to let this happen to my sister's daughter. It is time I began teaching you the Caramag, the Wind Song. The greatest legacy of those who came before us."
Thus began an incredibly challenging and rewarding phase of Narcissa's adolescence. Under her uncle's less-than-forgiving gaze, the ljosalfr woman practiced the fifty intricate movements of the Caramag for at least six hours every day. Initially, she used wooden sparring swords Bardolan had made for this exact purpose some time ago. By the time the first snows fell in the year 1764, the she-elf was executing The Goat Leaps Skyward and The Hand Falls Silently with twin blue iron blades. For the first time in her life, Narcissa felt like she was in control of her own fate.
And then what would come to be known as the American Revolution began, and the elves living in Jamestown did what they always did in difficult times. They blamed anyone whose blood wasn't pure for the chaos engulfing Virginia. Thankfully, Bardolan had anticipated this, and he'd already secured a place for himself and Narcissa aboard a caravan heading out west. The two light elves spent the journey studying the Caramag as well as discussing the finer points of elven history and lore. This was, without a doubt, one of the happiest times in Narcissa's life. The caravan finally reached the ramshackle town of Last Meal in Utah on a rainy morning in 1785. Mainly comprised of refugees, wanderers, and mercenaries, the settlement was filthy and nearly lawless, but it was far removed from the bloodshed of the Revolutionary War. Time marched relentlessly onward and, unfortunately, in the year 1800, Bardolan came down with a nasty case of pneumonia that refused to go away. Fearing for her uncle's life, Narcissa did her best to keep the fire in their meager hut lit, and she even resorted to using her powers so she wouldn't have to leave Bardolan's side.
One night, the fire went out and, no matter how hard she tried, Narcissa could not light it again. Her gifts refused to obey her desperate commands. A few hours later, Bardolan "The Grim" Veclis passed into the afterlife. Narcissa was too poor to even afford a death mask for her beloved uncle.
Struggling to keep her head above water by doing odd-jobs for the people of Last Meal, Narcissa kept up with her training even as the world around her continued to change. A month after the start of the Civil War in 1865, Last Meal had grown to such a ridiculous extent that people began clamoring for its name to be changed. Last Meal was far too prosperous now to bear such a pitiful moniker. After a great deal of useless arguing and several fistfights, the name "Santa Somabra" was chosen and that was that. A new age had begun.
At some point during this tumultuous period, Narcissa developed a taste for high-quality drink. And women. Perhaps it was a way of coping with Bardolan's death. Perhaps she was just tired of dwelling on her past mistakes and failures. Perhaps oblivion was preferable to her current state. Either way, the 346 year old elf was simply going through the motions until she met a blonde ljosalfr on the run from some troubles back home in England. Her name was Myranda Tavellan, and she was the most beautiful person Narcissa had ever seen.
The courtship between the two was somewhat awkward, especially since Myranda initiated it, but they eventually became lovers. Of course, they never openly expressed their feelings for each other, because they knew how those around them would react. Still, between Narcissa's limited knowledge of smithing and Myranda's uncanny knack for obtaining copious amounts of cheap alcohol, the two elves made enough money to survive. Inevitably, they decided to open a small bar. What else could they do with their atypical skill sets? The Laughing Maiden was never particularly popular, but it provided the two light elves with the money necessary to prosper in the increasingly treacherous city of Santa Somabra.
Everything seemed to be going well for the lovers until Prohibition hit in 1920, though Myranda was convinced they could easily turn the Laughing Maiden into a restaurant. This turned out to be a difficult proposition. Especially once a group of vampires calling themselves the Nyctari showed up, demanding protection money since the Laughing Maiden was technically in their territory. Despite Myranda's knowledge of her draconic blood, Narcissa managed to avoid using her pyromantic talents as she drove the bloodsuckers off with the Caramag alone. Things seemed to be looking up for the two ljosalfar.
In the winter of 1945, the Laughing Maiden was burned down, and nobody was willing to admit they'd seen anything out of the ordinary. It didn't take a genius to realize the Nyctari weren't going to tolerate two elves working in their domain free of charge. Desperate and angry at the state of their hometown, the two women decided to join the Santa Somabra Police Department, swearing to each other they'd never let something like this happen again. Initially, the couple did fairly well, though their relationship became somewhat strained as more and more cops began working for the criminal guilds and syndicates taking over the city. Myranda saw nothing wrong with looking the other way if it meant the twosome could stay wealthy and safe. Narcissa, on the other hand, refused to condone this, and she became known as one of the few officers that couldn't be bought. Also, a strange gulf started to grow between the two light elves, which only prompted Narcissa to resume drinking and take up smoking. The couple would sometimes spend entire nights not talking to each other.
It all came to a head in 1985 when Officer Veclis got a tip that a Demon's Blood deal was going down in an abandoned warehouse near the Somabra Clock Tower.
The light elf warrior was stunned to find her lover there, shaking down a Bloodbloom Syndicate hobb in hopes of getting every last drop of Demon's Blood he was carrying. Myranda was an addict. Narcissa realized now why her partner had been so willing to "look the other way" whenever the gangs were involved. That was how she got her fix. Enraged and hurt by this betrayal, Narcissa was stunned when Myranda threatened to tell the entire SSPD that she was a wyrmblood if this wasn't kept quiet. Narcissa had done a decent job of keeping her heritage hidden from the other officers. Did her superiors know? Yes, but she'd done her best to limit the number of people who were aware of her abilities. If the rank-and-file knew then there was a good chance her career with the SSPD would be over. Seeing how totally the city had corrupted Myranda was too much for Narcissa to bear. For the first time in years, her temper got the better of her.
The Great Fire of 1985 destroyed an entire block and the Somabra Clock Tower, creating a region of the city known only as the "Burned Block." Over 200 people perished and Officers Veclis and Tavellan were assumed dead, though almost all the bodies recovered from the scene were burned to a crisp. In truth, Narcissa fled Santa Somabra, repulsed and guilt-stricken by the carnage she'd wrought. No matter how far she ran, however, Narcissa couldn't escape her memories. Dreams of blue flames, Myranda's screams of pain, and the stench of burning flesh filled her nights and made it impossible to sleep.
In 1995, the elf returned to Santa Somabra and began thinking about how she could possibly atone for what she'd done. A possible solution came to her as she recalled something Bardolan had said to her years ago. "The ancient ljosalfar swordmasters believed that if you made a mistake then you had to pay for it. No matter what." Perhaps that was the solution? Santa Somabra was sick, and getting sicker all the time, as gangs and the corrupt authorities they controlled ran roughshod over the innocent men and women trying to make a living. At best, the commonfolk were destined to be extorted and used by these lawbreakers. Unless somebody did something.
Finally, Narcissa decided it was time to act. She was going to offer up the souls of 200 criminals as penance for causing the Great Fire of 1985. Maybe then she would know peace. Or at least be able to sleep again.
Using her few remaining contacts in the city, Narcissa quickly established herself as a skilled bounty killer with a penchant for breathtaking swordplay and a decent understanding of short-range firearms. At first, she killed criminals for anyone who could pay her. Even other criminals. Sometimes, she just killed because she could. She tried to avoid harming innocents or pissing off anyone important, but there were times when it simply couldn't be helped. As time wore on, however, she gathered more and more information about her various employers. Every major player in Santa Somabra could make use of a competent hired gun, and Narcissa was exceedingly competent. The only group she refused to work for was the Nyctari, though the ljosalfr never told anyone why. The memory of the Laughing Maiden burning left a sour taste in her mouth that resurfaced whenever she saw a member of the Nyctari.
And yet, for all the drug dealers and pimps she butchered, the guilt and memories of her past continued to plague Narcissa. And these memories were now joined by a host of new nightmares revolving around the atrocities she'd committed on behalf of Santa Somabra's criminal element. She felt worse and worse with each contract she completed. Something had to give.
After completing a lucrative job for the Reapers in 2015, Narcissa bought a custom-made elven death mask from a mortuary near Crooked Alley. Donning this covering and calling herself Vigilance, the light elf did her best to cast aside her old self completely. The dreams still tormented her, but she tried not to dwell on them anymore. If she was going to redeem herself then the past needed to stay in the past. Whenever she felt overwhelmed or depressed, the ljosalfr drank or smoked until everything went numb. Vigilance became a known and feared name amongst the criminals of Santa Somabra, transforming the nearly 500 year old light elf into a veritable boogeyman. Yet, there were also stories about how she saved the daughter of Mankar Deslandra from a brothel or left baskets of food for the orphans living in the Narrows. Some things never change.
When the Martovanni Family and the Reapers fell in 2016, Narcissa had already sent 150 corrupted souls into the afterlife. She even helped guide several influential Martovanni loyalists to their final destinations over the course of the Canoness affair. However, once she saw how much power Nyxvira Bloodbloom amassed after conquering the fallen family's territory, Vigilance realized just how dangerous the faerie queenpin was. It was time for a bold move. Besides, it was one of the Bloodbloom Syndicate's hobbs that had provided Myranda with her Demon's Blood fix. Narcissa approached Nyxvira and offered her an oath of fealty, swearing to only work in the best interests of the Bloodbloom Syndicate from now on. The faerie accepted, and Narcissa appears to be completely loyal to her new mistress. Of course, she's actually trying to find a way to kill the bloated faerie bitch.
The year is now 2019, and the light elf from Truro, Cornwall finds herself standing beside Nyxvria as her favored enforcer and bounty killer. As Santa Somabra tries to weather the storm unleashed by the Somabra Slayer killings, Vigilance wonders if she's doing the right thing. If she's ever done the right thing. Because, if she's completely honest with herself, the list of differences between Narcissa and the people she hunts seems to be getting shorter and shorter. When does the woman dedicated to hunting monsters become one herself?
-Wyrmblood: What does it mean to be a wyrmblood? This term is generally used to describe a child that was born from the union of a dragon in a mortal form and an elf. It's also a nasty insult since questioning the purity of an elf's blood is akin to shouting "Bomb!" in a crowded movie theater. In fact, several people have died horribly mere moments after demeaning the heritage of a dark or light elf. To be a halfbreed is to be an abomination in the eyes of elven society so Narcissa Veclis, as well as any elf of mixed parentage, tends to keep the details of their upbringing private.
Unfortunately, being a wyrmblood adds an extra challenge for those with a draconic parent to overcome. The "gift" bestowed upon all wyrmbloods by their non-elven mother or father is essentially emotion-based pyromancy. These elves gain the ability to direct flame whenever they're experiencing intense anger, sorrow, and so forth. The only real limitation, beyond the necessity for strong emotion, is that the fire being controlled has to already exist. This is why Narcissa always carries a lighter with her. No wyrmblood can conjure fire from nothing. Another interesting facet of this unusual capability is that any flame manipulated by a wyrmblood turns a brilliant shade of blue. As soon as the emotion fueling the elf fades, however, the wyrmblood's gift will recede until it's brought forth once again.
Still, the ability to summon walls of teal-colored fire, send darts of blazing agony hurtling towards one's foes, and surrounding yourself in a fiery aura are all within the grasp of those with draconic blood. It's also worth noting that all wyrmbloods are born with blood red hair.
-Caramag, "The Wind Song": The Caramag, which means "Wind Song" in the ancient elven tongue, is something special and rather unusual. Created many millennia ago by ljosalfr born without any connection to the mystical arts, this technique is comprised of fifty movements and can be done with either a single sword or two blades. While originally conceived as a way to give those with little or no magical talent an edge over their enemies, the Wind Song eventually transformed into something more. It became an excellent method for training the next generation of light and dark elven swordmasters, skilled and adroit warriors focused on making their blades an extension of themselves. Bardolan the Grim was one such apprentice and, during his youth in Greece, he was taught the fifty movements of the Caramag by a gifted swordmistress. Before his death in 1800, the elderly ljosalfr passed on everything he knew to his niece, Narcissa Veclis.
While the she-elf can now use swords in ways most people cannot imagine, the Caramag doesn't grant anyone the ability to deflect bullets or slash tanks apart. It does, however, give someone like Narcissa the ability to cut off limbs and part flesh with all the ease of tearing paper. Each movement of the Caramag is capable of killing someone if it's used in the proper context. For instance, The Goat Leaps Skyward is a huge jump followed by a vicious downward chop, which is driven by the momentum gained during the initial leap. This movement not only allows the swordmaster or swordmistress to close the gap between themselves and their adversary, but it also acts as an executioner's cut. All of the fifty movements are like this, granting those who practice the Caramag unparalleled control of the battlefield as long as they can reach the enemy. Sadly, with the advent of firearms, the Caramag has fallen into disuse, though there are small groups of elven swordmasters scattered across the globe to this day. Some have even begun to adapt the Wind Song to handle foes armed with long-range weaponry.
-Elven Senses: This may not seem like much compared to her wyrmblood abilities and understanding of the Caramag, but Vigilance also possesses the keen senses of a mature ljosalfr. She can hear the sound of someone's heart beating on the other side of a wall if she concentrates. It's also nearly impossible to poison the she-elf, because Narcissa can taste whatever toxin has been placed in her food or drink after one mouthful. If her tongue didn't alert her to the venom's presence then her nose would. All elves have superior senses compared to the lesser races, and those dwelling in Santa Somabra tend to rely heavily on their innate gifts. Failing to pay attention tends to have unpleasant results.
Expressing interest...again lol. I'm planning on making my elven pyromancer, though I think I'm going to make her a bounty hunter instead of a private eye.
Hey, guys. So, some personal issues have come to light, and I'm afraid I'm going to have to drop out of this. I'm incredibly sorry because this does look awesome. I just need to turn my attention to other matters right now. I apologize. Best of luck to you.
Hmmm...so Claret is on her way to the Heartlands. How long would it take to get from the Crownlands to the Heartlands? I'm just wondering how much of a time skip would need to occur for her to reach Castle Greenstone.
Oh no worries lol. I'm thinking I'll do kind of a 'slice of life' intro post. Something simple that sets up Gwen's mentality and outlines the current state of affairs in the Heartlands. From there, who knows? Also, just FYI, I'll be able to manage maybe one or two posts a week due to my work schedule, which is insane. Hopefully that won't be a problem.
