Noxious

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Aveline

Cadet Aveline Lott

^{Twenty-two || Lyran Commonwealth Armed Forces || Female}

Physical Description

She had intense smokey gray eyes, usually lined in charcoal and focused. There was a scar on her left cheek bone brushing back into her hairline from a spring release metal, a less focused time, usually covered with strands of her short ebony hair. She was average height with a toned build that supported slight curves beaten down with a strict training regime. Her skin was heavily tattooed; the dual moon cycles of Blackjack played down her spine starting at the respective Club and Spade tattooed behind her ears on her upper neck, devilish serpents that were equal parts Blackjack species and Christian nightmare fuel raced from her palm to curl behind her shoulder and other symbols that meant nothing in her new home. She wears short breathable orange fabric shorts and an equipment strap on her right thigh. She had a black sports bra with a lightweight ballistic fiber slip that covered her like a turtleneck that had been cut at the elbows.

Character History

As the second Succession war came to a close, Blackjack’s industry and ore mining had all but crumbled. The mercenaries originally hired to protect the planet from raiders and Combine were suddenly out of work and those who had bled the resources dry had long sense moved on. The mercenaries seized the opportunity and utilized the pits from surface mining and catacombs; converting them into scrap heaps, containing a rare Mech part or two, but plenty of other things abandoned, stockpiled, scavenged, or pillaged. They took claim of the planet with loose leadership. It gained some notoriety for its mechanical industry, which was said to have once boasted quite the illicit modification trade. It was Aveline’s Grandfather who gained official recognition from the Lyran Commonwealth. The Blackjack School of Conflict, with its less than common training techniques, would be accepted if Blackjack excluded some of the more pirate inclined traders, but they also gained the trade and support of the Lyran Commonwealth. It was a prosperous move.

The planet did not maintain full stability, excluding even the ordeals of War. The piracy and underground trade had mostly been removed, or at least brushed further into hiding. Being so close to the periphery still seemed to bring in a fair share of unsavory individuals; but if Blackjack respected anything, it was privacy and a hard day’s work in the scrap fields. She had relished this about her home; the ability to be anonymous that she gave up entirely when coming here. On her home system of Blackjack she was nobility that could hide among the populous, but at Nagelring her nobility was enough for notice, but not enough for respect.

Aveline Lott and her siblings had begun training young with BattleMechs, but they had also learned much in the catacombs. It was a unique underbelly that she explored searching for the legendary MechTech the elderly bragged about storing away. Instead they picked up occasional mechanical and life lessons. It was no surprise that all of the children were equipped enough to make it into the Blackjack School of Conflict. She thrived there. The school’s respect system was heavily based on skill, with much less focus on birth and status. Unfortunately her family was not in possession of multiple BattleMechs. A deal was made with a longtime family friend that a Mech would be supplied as long as Aveline was accepted and graduated from Nagelring.

The acceptance into the school was difficult, but the acceptance within school was baffling. She was raised in a family extremely conducive to becoming a Mech pilot, in such a sense that she had never considered anything else. Both of her parents were praised pilots. Her mother continued by teaching at the BJSC. While her father’s inclinations have long since moved towards leadership over battle, his skill was undisputed. So in this she was naturally inclined and was highly recognized for her skill. What she lacked was the grooming and etiquette and title that she simply couldn’t excel in. While her parents passed on a grasp of politics, they were more geared to periphery space issues. This left her physically and mentally prepared for battle, but not for the social atmosphere of Nagelring. So, most of the friends she has made came to her out of curiosity, not camaraderie, and there were a sad handful that respected her skill enough for passing pleasantries.

Psychological Profile

She is not socially inclined in the sense that the Nagelring expects, though on her home planet she would never have been referred to as an introvert. Since coming to the Nagelring she has withdrawn into herself, often over compensating for a lack of social refinement with a fierce and distant attitude. She still nourishes the belief she can prove herself through the same means as she did at home, through skill, and it drives her to put all her energy into aspects of training. Even in her senior year this has gained her few, if any, friends. She has a suspicion of friendships, motivated by wavering confidence. Her most driving goal would probably be acknowledgment, though she has convinced herself the majority of people surrounding her are not vetted enough to provide a worthwhile compliment anyways.

What she lacks in social skills she makes up battle skill, bred and nourished. Much of her interaction is forceful, her tone and attitude blunt. In slow moving or tedious situations she has a tendency to grow frustrated or anxious. She loves a challenge and has sought them out, improving her skill along the way. With the bred and nourished battle attitude also came an acceptance of loss. She is not the “get everyone out alive” type, but leans more towards an understanding of expected and accepted losses.

Skills

• More competent in dodge, flank and attack techniques. Scouting.
• Good acclimation rate to various BattleMech and scenarios, quick learner, reads terrain.
• Shows very little outward fear, doesn't have the luxury to fall behind in competitive scenarios. Remains steadily at the head of the class.
• Training in Outer Space Survival/Salvager (repair, salvage, lay low, steal to survive, basic med training).

Equipment:

• Cooling Vest
• Neurohelmet
• Mauser & Grey Automatic Handgun
• metal wire
• knife
• rope
• mech tools (repair, scavenging, basic parts: stored in Mech)
• survival kit (stored in Mech)

Battlemech

• PXH-1b "Special"
  Referred to as the Phoenix Hawk "Special," the 1b was introduced in 2760 for the Star League's Royal units. It utilized an XL Engine as well as Endo Steel for its chassis, which allowed the designers to upgrade its weaponry. The pistol-like laser was upgraded to an ER PPC, while a swivel-mounted ER Large Laser found its way onto the right torso. Replacing the ten standard heat sinks with Double heat sinks kept these high-heat weapons from overwhelming the 'Mech. A Guardian ECM Suite in the center torso improved the 1b's defense, while moving the machine gun ammunition to the left torso and adding CASE virtually ensured that the MechWarrior would survive an ammunition explosion.

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WIP ISE

Ode to Turbulent Flow:
Big whirls have little whirls
Which feed on their velocity,
And little whirls have lesser whirls
And so on, to viscosity.
- Lewis F. Richardson

Isabella “Ise” Hägg

‏^{twenty-eight || female ||Swedish}

Physical Description:

Blindness clouds over any semblance of eyes, leaving sheet white orbs as the focus of a still pretty face. A barcode traces across her pale skin, memory of their intellectual terrorism days in the depths of the transhumanist movement. Her shoulders are narrow, lending to an appearance of angelic fragility. She usually wears a loose tank top that reveals the edges of a large tattoo honoring Heimdallr that spans her tapered back, from shoulders to hips and then sneaking below frayed jean shorts. Her skin was grafted around the connection cables that extended from the back of her skull, so that they fell seamlessly with braids and dreadlocks the same pale as her skin. The cables added a bit of color to her appearance, a deep red that matches her painted lips and then an assortment of green, gold and blue. Thick metal bangles covered both wrists, linking her to wireless and movement controlled systems within her programming.

Skillset:

• Security systems subversion, maintenance and tapping. Includes specialized knowledge in frequency emissions and variable coding.[/*]
• Computer data distortion and corruption.[/*]
• Specialized field work and studies in Electrophysiology and Neural Network Emulation. Her main focus in study was translating brain source code to another programming language. Heavy experimentation with mind transfers and corresponding technology.[/*]

History:

WIP

Psychological Profile:

After the accident she lost a lot of herself. Human mind and personal identity are generated by the emulated neural network in an identical fashion to it being generated by the biological neural network. She is reliant on computer technology, unlike her usual compatriots. She requires the electricity and triggers to survive and has to plug in to be alive. It is unclear if the immense involvement with computer technology has made her morally inept or if she was always inclined to favor knowledge and progress over human decency. To figure out the secrets behind brain uploading she would gladly sacrifice 1,000’s of human lives. She believes the Helsinki Declaration is a child of the bioconservatives and really isn't doing the world any favors. Her personality has been described as “stifling” and “strict”, but she does have her moments of letting go of all the streams and enjoying the company of others. Specifically her younger brother, Lucas, whom she adores and has a protective outlook towards (they both rely on one another heavily, so this is not a surprise). She has always been a compulsive gambler. Since the incorporation of the extensive neural interface she displays heightened apathy, hallucinations, some cognitive dysfunction and depression. Often calibrations and adjustments help to balance these feelings. The computer controls so much of her input that she can be extremely detached from reality- the computer dictates her reality.

Modifications:

• Extreme neural/computer interface and linking processor not previously attempted. Symbiotic relationship with high tech computer system. Necessary chemicals, electrical stimulation and monitoring provided by patches. Without the ability to “tap in” she would grow weak before collapsing into her previous comatose state. Actual brain patch mainly made of nanoscale carbon fibers and polycarbonate urethane. Some jacks, data cables, chemical and electrical feeder cables extend from the back of her head.[/*]
• Comprehension of volt and frequency emission that can be mirrored, ghosted or suppressed.[/*]
• Ability to communicate, corrupt or control wireless security and surveillance. Augmented “hack” tool that contorts coding into a neural language that she speaks as fluently as English.[/*]
• Communications suite, HUD and neural-computer, all standard issue -- Aspidas agents are able to text by thinking it among each other on a heavily encrypted wireless network. In fact, the computer works off brain impulses and is easily one of the most sophisticated and useful implants they have; what's more, its capabilities have yet to be fully exploited. The downside of this implant is that it includes a cortex bomb with an anti-tampering device. A captured agent can set it off, destroying the hardware inside, or a signal from control can do the same. This is to prevent the enemy from learning the capabilities of implanted agents.[/*]
• Internal air supply and aerial toxin filter -- this also has the added advantage of making the agent immune to vampire pheromones, as some types of vampires are known to use this to seduce their prey.[/*]
• Blood/liquid toxin filter -- the obvious is at work here -- vampires use their blood as a means of controlling mortals, and this system (and everyone, even non field agents, in the Aspidas organization have this implant) screens out one of most subtle weapons a vampire has, rendering them functionally immune to being controlled through ingested blood the way mortal thralls of a vampire might be.[/*]

Equipment:

• Back up of monitored/monitoring security systems and surveillance kept at Aspida. Never sent wirelessly. She picks and chooses what to save, often filing while watching. Her personal memory capacity is aided by a terabyte patch which is dumped into Aspida’s backup files every couple of days.[/*]
• Lucas is equipped with transmitters that emit varying wave frequencies (RF frequencies) that can communicate with systems controlled by short rang. Ise finds the required frequency and remotely triggers the release from (Hellis).[/*]
• Bugs. An aspida alteration of MAVs. They work in tandem with Lucas. Fully mechanical drones that she controls through one of her systems. They have their own separate jack extending from her neural patch. There are assorted models (from spiders to fireflies) handed down from scientists and engineers in the employ of Aspida. They are primarily used to track and record short range frequencies which Ise stores in a comprehensive database for later use. In a pinch they can be used in attacks as each small mechanism is capable of volt (measured voltage can be used to create compatability and release in 12 volt triggers), emp and frequency emulators. It may not kill a vampire, but Ise has no problem invading an organism and causing a bit of chaos. Lucas carries dense metal baseballs, once activated the ball breaks apart and releases a hundred small machines.[/*]
• Cloaking technology activates when she logs in, creating a frequency block at the entrance of the “server” room that emits heavy frequency’s detrimental to mental stability while in range. If someone gets past this they are met with a heavily encrypted door. All implemented to protect her while in her roaming state.[/*]

Other:

• More susceptible to brain hackers, malicious memory alteration, deliberate distortion of subjective reality and experience.[/*]
• There is no way for her to know how much Aspida controls in her reality, personality and actions.[/*]

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Little Red

Name: Manya Hood; aka Red, Little Red, Wolf Manya, Wolf M

Age: 22

Skills/Traits:

She’s handy with a 9mm and she isn’t too bad with improvisational weaponry either. Rumor is she once decapitated a man by wrapping a guitar string around his neck and pushing all her body weight off his shoulder blades after riding him about the room howling like an idiot. Her true life passion culminates in a big bang; semtex to bouncing bombs, petrol to pipe, smoke to Molotov, she dabbled in them all. Lawfully inept. While she isn’t necessarily loyal, she is dependent…and dependency is much more dependable. Boosted physicality and multiple limitations expanded on below. She is well connected and well protected within the deep confines of Forest, on a lower floor of the Towers, a sordid place where B.B. Woolfe himself is rumored to reside...along with other terrifying denizens of Forest used to keep kids praying at night.

Personality:

There are 3 levels of Red’s personality. With the assistance of the drug, from which she loaned her name, RED she can be calm, low key and almost sweet. She is most likely to not remember occurrences outside of this state. Another downfall at initial dose is an almost Xanax like Zen, which is inappropriate in the Forest. The in between stage is house trained. Conniving, manipulative, with her true business savvy shinning threw. This phase can be susceptible to paranoia and drastic mood swings. The last of her personalities is vicious, cruel and imaginative in all the wrong fields. Self-control isn’t apparent and most memory blocks occur during this time. She also becomes susceptible to hallucinations. Her personality always contains an undercurrent of righteousness. She believes she is one of the evils required to eliminate the rest and allow the marginalized to flourish.

History:

The older people recalled a time when the neighborhood of Forest Trails was thriving and beautiful. The shop windows didn’t require thick metal bars and the landscaping didn’t consist of discarded condoms, needles, and broken 40 oz. bottles. The high rises had attendees and cops didn’t mind stopping to help out a lost kid, but the cops rarely came this way anymore and the high rises had officially been deemed section 8. If there was any order left it came down from the Wolves, run by B.B. Woolfe, or from the rebellious goody goodies that operated out of the Sherwood building.

So I guess Red’s story started there, but then again, this story really starts with Grandma. Grandma wasn’t really anyone’s Grandma, as far as Red knew anyways. She was just an older lady that accepted a bit of cash to watch the younger children whose parents couldn’t be bothered with such things. Grandma didn’t bother too much either, but she was present physically and that seemed to count for something. It counted for the government checks.

You’d think growing up in this kind of environment would make a young girl hyper aware, but Manya wasn’t much for details. She seemed to wander about with her head in the clouds. Little Manya. Sweet little thing. Cute as a button. She played hopscotch over the homeless, whistling sweet tunes as she brought Grandma’s prescription. You see, Grandma rarely left the house. She padlocked the door, drew the shades, departed her mind with the help of a little crystal and relied on the children in her care to do her bidding. But Grandma wasn’t a bad person, per say. She could be a little rude and little distant, but Manya didn’t think she deserved to die. Manya was actually quite fond of the elderly lady.

But Manya was too young to understand the complex relationships that dwelled in the darkness of Forest, which bred in Forest. No one talks about it, so it’s hard to say when Grandma’s selective blindness began to cover the teeth and claws sneaking about little Manya. The Wolves no longer counted on Grandma to pay her heavy debts, but put the weight between the thighs of a girl whom grew more and more divided with every passing day. For years the girl lived in a dark hell, where the safety of home at times reeked of crystal and the sweat of wolves, with a caregiver occasionally baking cookies and helping with macaroni art and then Grandma would cower away and the Wolves would come. Manya learned to change too. Her mind twisted about her environment inserting seeds of a fairytale. The Wolves were her home. Later, in the institute, they would try and tell her that these men were bad. What did they know? The cops who took her away---they were bad. The Judge that sentenced her, he was bad. The Wolves were her family, but I get ahead of myself.

No one had to talk about that day 7 years ago to remember it. When the good hunter of the Arcadia law enforcement arrived to respond to the call of a young girl, there was no one in the house with enough humanity left to save. He removed the body of young Red, but it wasn’t Manya anymore. There had been a snap, an awakening, a birth and a death. Multiple deaths actually, and only one of them was metaphorical. Grandma’s head was bent upward, eyes large in surprise. A resinated glass pipe was broken into her jaw where little shards twinkled from her gums giving the appearance of rather large canines. The bodies of two wolves were originally thought to be hacked apart, but the Autopsy revealed that death had occurred after multiple gunshot wounds and the fire axe wounds transpired post mortem.

The state ruled the child mentally unfit, but they didn’t call it a sentence, they simply placed her in the care of the L. Carroll Psychiatric Institute. Initially they diagnosed her with dissociative amnesia. At times it seemed the little girl didn’t remember any of the accident and she asked after Grandma. Other times she clearly understood that she had slaughtered Grandma and showed no remorse, nor even any consideration for the emotion. On a few instances she was incoherent and violent. The amnesia seemed to have no pattern of existence and talking about the event immediately triggered a change in incarnation of Manya. They eventually diagnosed it as Dissociative Identity Disorder and prescribed her pills that made her only two steps from catatonia. Her release at the age of 15 went mostly unnoticed by the good citizens as she slipped back into the hands of the Wolves. The whole situation wasn’t necessarily legal, but then again, they couldn’t just keep her sedated forever.

She was placed in the care of some older Wolves. They were not relevant. Everything they did was just orders handed down from above and they cared as little for her as she for them. But they switched her medication to RED, and for that she was as grateful as the tormented little thing could be. They trained her to defend herself, but soon she wanted more. She wanted her people to have an option for safety, but if not, then she wanted everyone to stare out fearful from bared windows. Maybe then they would care about the woes of the Forest. Only then would they care. B.B. took this seed of goodness and blossomed it into a Freedom Fighter ideal. He had always had a knack for blowing houses down and why shouldn’t he pass this on? She learned how to build bombs, minor at first. Even a firecracker could be beautiful and destructive, when well placed…but soon she had surpassed even B.B. and was acquiring contacts in an array of fields from EMPS to radioactive materials. The latter was still a touchy subject of which she was exceedingly secretive. It is rumored that she is only studying the dirty bomb ideals and has yet to actually cross that governmental line that may put her on Most Wanted.

The acquisition of the surname Hood can be entirely blamed on the all-around Captain Save A Hoe personality of Mr. Robert “Rob” N. Hood. They met in court mandated N.A., Red later realizing that Rob attended the meeting as community outreach and not as an actual member. He said things like “make love” and brought her pancakes in bed. They were young. Reckless. Married at the Enchanted Forest Inn and divorced at the civil works Sherwood building all inside a year. Red believed that B.B. Woolfe had threatened Rob and perhaps he had; but it was deflective of her to ignore the deep rooted issues she carried around like a basket. The place where they divorced became the real beginning for Rob, he practically runs the place now; fighting a by any means necessary war against civil issues. In the end, they were just different types of rebels.

She kept the last name but otherwise moved on. She found plenty to keep busy. She accepted a full time position amongst the Wolves. If you rely on someone for sanity; better a willing servant than a chained slave. Weapons, sex, homicide; doing and selling. She rose in ranks, gaining turf and minions within the Wolves. B.B. liked her. She was forever chained to the RED, and he held the leash, so what was not to like? Plus, there was something that twinkled behind her sweet façade, a secret that he felt was like only he knew. Of course, Rob Hood had seen the same glimmer…and so had Grandma….and perhaps even the Fox.

RephurExterDisosix (RED):

Common use is a hallucinogenic, though it was initially intended for use as an antipsychotic. Its side effects include heightened metabolic and muscle development, as well as isolated surges in certain senses. Either increasing or persistent gaps in memory. One dose usually lasts for a period of 24-48 hours, though dosage is dependent on desired effect and user.

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Lin

USERNAME: Noxious (Nox is fine)

NAME: Linwë “Lin” Anwamanë
AGE: unknown, youthful; the concept of time in limitation of years is lost upon her people.
ARCHTYPE: Savage Berserker
PERSONALITY:

To say anything about her personality on a whole it must be understood that at the base of it all she is unforgivably apathetic to human nature, bordering on a chaotic destructionism. Beyond this she has been ingrained with personality traits common to her people; she is uncomplaining of her surroundings, even though ‘city life’ incited an unflinching disgust and she finds little to no redeemable qualities in civilization or the civilized. She covets a pack mentality that offers a loyalty to those she views as her own. Believes life is cyclical and there is no need to apologize for wrongs past done just as there is need to feel guilt when stealing air from the sky. It should never be said that she is kind, nor cruel, though she leans more closely towards the first in one on one interaction and more closely to the latter in social interactions. When in the company of strangers her mannerisms are tense and highly alert, even more so within city limits. Her interactions with others are usually forced; she saw little merit in conversation, though running, tracking, hunting, fighting, killing brought momentary glimpses of life to eyes otherwise bored of the world crumbling around her.

WEAPONS:

• Wild’Har Twin Khopeshs- an artistic sublimation of war, crafted of Crys Grove stone so delicately refined that they fail to reflect light so while in movement it almost has the appearance of invisibility. With use the material is said to drink the blood spilled and slowly takes on a hellish red color. Like a standard Khopesh they are both slightly curved. One crooks tightly creating a hook while the other less severely to allow easy access to the serrated outer edge, like a saw blade.[/*]
• Shield-She carries a sturdy, yet unglamorous shield upon her back which can be exchanged with one of the Khopesh, but also helps deflect unseen attacks from behind.[/*]

ABILITIES:

• Beast Within; an ability both inherited, magical and practiced. Her mind alters its process to an animalistic frequency. Heightened hearing, smell, eyesight, durability and pain tolerance. Her muscles tighten as movements become more instinctual and forceful. Her posture also reflects a crouching to protect sensitive areas. The drawbacks are an expelling of human self. She becomes something else, something that could be called cruel. Something vicious to be sure. A child of Kartan possessed with more chaos than any natural creature. Sometimes the animal refuses to relinquish control for a period and when she does return it is to an over worked and usually battered body. Her people who have dabbled in the ability are aware of the insanity that trickles slowly into the user of such abilities.[/*]

ARMOR:

(No relation to necromancers)All armor upon the Wild’Har comes from the dead Orcs, Goblins, Ogres, Humans, Elves or Beasts that she herself has dispatched. Half skulls rest on her shoulders. The nimble finger bones cover her joints while rib bones add an extra cover for her chest, . The dried tongues of Deviks (smaller, dragon like creature) wrap around her arms, legs and midsection. The sharpened teeth of Orcs protrude along her shoulders and lower arms. Intestines of the Sliaw (snake-like) are treated and molded into shoes due to their resistance to fire.

RACE: Wild’Har
APPEARANCE:

While in the city it would be extremely rare to see her without a full cloak and head covering, knowing that her people are a rarity and often create a tense and aggressive reaction in others.

COUNTRY OF ORIGIN: Southeast jungle region of the Hyllara
BACKGROUND:

She was born into a happy tribe, though a tribe rife with war. The two occurrences were not unrelated, nor entirely conducive to each other. They often had much to celebrate, their children were born strong and their food supply was plentiful, the natural disasters that struck them were gifts of renewal and the land that they nomadically traveled on was well protected from outsiders and tainting influence by the 100’s of Wild’Har tribes that called the Hyllara home. Her tribe was nestled close to the jungles edge where the Wild’Har had to be the most vigilant and vicious. While war was a consistent, it was viewed as a way of life as much as ceremonies and feasts, dancing by the fire and hunting as a pack, all of which were actions that could be threatened only by a cease in the war that kept outsiders away.

Her people were sub sectioned to a pack of Devik’s, which created a natural and fluid balance for the Devik species. They left much waste, which could contaminate the water and land for days if unchecked; they roamed with uncareful tread, occasionally to close to protected areas, such as the grove of the Crys or the edges of the jungle. It was the Wild’Har that reused the wasted carcasses, that pressed the roaming Deviks back into the jungle, for their own protection and the protection of the outlaying cities.

It was once she had left the confines of the jungle, the protection of her people that Lin began to understand the growing importance for Kartan to rise up towards the great destruction, a need for a new beginning that only Kartan could offer them all. They were surrounded by ‘sinners’, peoples and lands that had lost any light of hope and had a lack of connection to nature that chilled her and sent nightmares to follow her even when she was awake. Her people had been wrong to praise Elana and Kartan both for Elana had turned on them, creating vanity and selfishness that bred like rabies in the mouths of the people.

She returned to the jungle, only to ‘harness’ the Devik’s and lead them crushing into some of the cities closer to the jungle. Her vision was red, her mind went blank as it seemed Kartan himself had embodied her and the stampede she brought down upon the unsuspecting villages. Her own people quelled the attack and returned to the jungle without her, disowning her and leaving her scorned and resentful of the world around her. She was shaking from a rage and use of her own power that had temporarily weakened and blinded her. She was like this when they found her, the pirates.

They knew of her people’s strength and viciousness in a feral sense, so like any dog they placed her into a metal cage beneath the deck and with no view or feel of nature or the sky. She quickly became depressed and withdrawn. It was Iano who probed the little beast with a stick and when she refused to move he spoke to her. Truly she had lost everything except for the truth that this world was filled with many things and she had yet to see one that deserved to survive. Not herself, not even Iano, whom soon she knew by the sound of his steps and though she didn’t speak he continued to speak to her.

It was in this way that she arrived so far from home, in such a strange place: Iano who released her one day while at a port after having made sure the boat was barely guarded. It was this niceness that confused and confounded her, enthralling her to him so that she quickly swelled against him, taking in his scent, and then she ran. She ran for days, weeks? She avoided cities and slept in trees. She ate wild meat raw and listened to the animals, forlorn in their small numbers. She told them all how lost she felt, that her purpose was so gray, yet so defined. Destruction was required for a new beginning. Judgment had been cast. Now she just needed to find a tool in which to deliver it. And this is when she decided to track the Iano, perhaps piracy was the outlet she would use.

It took months for her to capture the scent, months in which she would venture into cities while attempting to control a nausea that seemed to overwhelm her being. And it was within one of these huge cities that she finally found him. This is how she came to find Silver Leaf, tracking the Tindra into the walls. And it was here that she would find her outlet of purpose.

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Eriko

E r i k o N i s h i m u r a

^{8 t h g e n e r a t i o n V e n t r u e}

[ ᴅ ɪ s ᴄ ɪ ᴘ ʟ ɪ ɴ ᴇ s ]

• Dominate
• Fortitude
• Presence

[ ᴘ ᴇ ʀ s ᴏ ɴ ᴀ ʟ ɪ ᴛ ʏ ]

Her own mind is a sordid place; shallow emotions (including reduced fear, a lack of empathy, and high stress tolerance), cold heartedness, egocentricity, superficial charm, manipulative, moral ambiguity, a lack of remorse, and a strictly usefulness based gauge of acceptance and respect for others. She is extremely focused and social. She adores leadership, is tactful and goal driven, as most Ventrue are. To see the girl wearing a happy disposition is usually indicative of something malicious playing through her mind. She truly is what the Camarilla seek; even before gaining her disciplines she was mastering them in her own human right. Her small stature has suited her well, ensuring she is almost always underestimated.

[ ʜ ɪ s ᴛ ᴏ ʀ ʏ ]

Other kindred talk about their life as a mortal as if it was some bastard at the dinner party. They narrow their eyes and stare down their nose at it; knowing they can’t remove it, yet shoving it away in an irrelevant file of the eons. Maybe it was the time period she came from, maybe it was the culture, but Eriko did not share these feelings. It wasn’t as if she valued humanity, no, she mirrored the majority of the kindred’s feelings in that. She did value her own morality. There was something strangely alluring about morality though and what it did to a species; it made them stronger and it gave them drive, and that was worth value.

Eriko was born in Hakata, Japan. The port town was just awakening to its promise and her father jumped at the chance to monitor the pulse of this growing industry. He and Eriko’s mother, both business minded but weary of sea travel, opened a tavern in which they negotiated trade between arriving/departing merchants and the land based merchants of Japan. In modern times they would say Eriko married young, then there really was no concept of that. Her husband was an adequate merchant managing operations between Shandong and Hakata, lacking the business sense of her parents but making up for it in a true love for Captaining. She couldn’t remember now if she loved him then, but she likes to think they were happy.

The competition was growing in the industry, making it difficult to distinguish themselves and maintain steady client flow. Eriko, who had in everything but title taken over the business management began to wonder down the alluring capitalistic road, long before it had been paved. Your position in life was what you created for yourself; it was with this philosophy that their reign of piracy began. At first they only raided small towns on the coast of China, but soon they had amassed a multitude of ships and an arrogance that did not go unnoticed by the Camarilla.

Her husband spent months away, managing the ships from the deck while Eriko sat in their lavish home; mapping, evaluating, negotiating and recruiting. It was during her husband’s absence when she met Domitius. Being in the sea merchant trade she had met a greater number of foreigners, but none quite so foreign as he. He was alluring, charming and spoke of exotic places, people and things; wooing the girl with her own curiosity and insatiable need to possess. He courted her late in the night when none of her husband’s men were around; whispering great promises.

When her husband returned he was greeted by a changed Eriko. It wasn’t long before her husband, in a drunken stupor, challenged the new Eriko and was put down. She continued to manage the business and raise her 3 children; allowing everyone to believe that her husband was simply traveling. Death was not rare then and it would have been difficult, if not irrelevant, to attempt to blame Eriko for her husband’s loss. She began to collect Ronin and pirates of note; becoming a fierce and shrewd businesswoman, as well as a Captain and warrior. The Ventrue and Domitius were pleased.

While her mortal life seems crystal clear it was her undead life that became a blur of moments, places and faces. She grew bored of her tyranny in the East China Sea, though around what year she can only approximate the 10th Century. She learned that missing sailors were often forgiven in light of her crew’s superiority in battle. They lost few on land and those lost at sea were credited to disease, common accidents and superstition; all of which ran rampant in the field of piracy. She traveled the Northwest Pacific, the Archipelagic Seas, and the Indian Ocean to the Southeast Atlantic. She gained joint stock in the East India Trading Company and had a sizable hand in the exploration and colonization of Africa. She resided in the Cape of Good Hope, long before it acquired its ironic name. She pillaged in the Mediterranean, centuries after the slaughter of Pirates undertaken by the Romans. She saw the Caspian, the Black Sea all the way to Barents and then she traveled to the America’s, almost all the way to Weddell Sea and back up to Bering. She found a true love in the Caribbean which stays true even to this day. A place reminiscent of debauchery and degradation, just the way a pirate would like it.

Throughout all of this the crews were buried and replaced, the boats evolved, the modes of operation evolved, and Eriko evolved as well, though her appearance remained the same. She dabbled in everything from common pillaging to fisheries, logging to slave ships, oil drilling to communication cable laying. The latter two being her current industry of choice. She excels in almost all subjects relating to maritime including: international maritime law, naval history, ship design, ship building, navigation, oceanography, cartography, hydrography and maritime economics and trade; almost as if she lived through it all.

During an extended stay in the Americas she discovered Stephen Bishop. He was cunning, cruel and ambitious in all the right ways and spoke to something deep within herself. She saw what he could become and she was already weary of the Camarilla’s pressure for her to settle down. In a way he was created to be an extension of herself; someone she could live vicariously through, but soon she came to respect the Kindred in his own right as someone whose opinion was not always her own, but was valued none the less. Shortly after Bishop was accepted into the ranks of the Ventrue and the Camarilla Eriko took up the position of Primogen in New Orleans. She enjoyed the city and the anonymity it favored amongst residences. With enough money you could be an Empress, or you could be invisible.

In recent times she has moved to Boston under the order of Camarilla to take up the position of Seneschal, an honor to be sure. Her operations were relocated and she continues to manage a plethora of cargo ships, container ships, tankers and cable layers; though now this is done almost entirely through proxy.

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Amunet

Name Amunet Heka

Age 45

Gender Female

Race Elven Heritage

Physical Description

She claimed a stature that was impressive amongst humans, strong and lean; traits afforded her due to her heritage and a life unaccustomed to stagnation. Her ears, laced with metal from tip to lobe are peaked instead of rounded and surrounded by hair the color of desolate night sky, traced now with a stray shooting star of glimmering white. Which were a newly acquired reminder that Noteyalis consumed all in their insatiable hunger. The eyes of her people have always appeared sharper and more focused than their human brothers. Hers create a piercing contrast, bragging of a clear and unyielding spring, judgmental and complacent. A heavy black traced about her eyes, temporarily smudged with paint, though existent deep into her skin from a lifetime of application. The same paint/tattoo collection licks across all of her skin. Runes, penance, respect, sacrifice; they all whisper secrets entombed within the will of her people. A red paint consumes her face in times of war; a promise of drive. A niquab, formerly the colors of her people has recently found strips of forest hues as a nod of solidarity with the guardian’s. On occasion this article is pulled back and pinned at her shoulders to reveal her body, still in tune with its physicality. Hers was a weapon that’s necessary coverings consisted of a thick blackish moss, almost cotton like, that was gifted from Noteyalis to enhance the wearers connection with all that she entombed. The adornments, which in Dara seemed like an ostentatious show, were a point of pride, breeding and respect among her own people.

Skillset

• Herbalism- Strong beliefs that the great Noteyalis has provided an answer to all problems within the earth. All Elven children are taught basic herbs.[/*]
• Hand to hand combat- While all Elven children are taught the basics, it was those amongst their clergy that felt a divine call to remain in peak physical condition and be able to protect the mysteries and the sanctity of slumbering Noteyalis.[/*]
• Stealth- Raised to embrace the cover of night, when the hot winds of the desert did not blister the skin so severely, her people have learned to seemingly pull the night about them and slip through its mazes with ease and comfort.[/*]
• Arcane/Occult- While magic was lost, it was not trivialized amongst the followers of Noteyalis. They strongly believed that it was gifted to them and then taken away by a jealous and repressing God, the same which imprisoned Noteyalis. They owed it to their faith to maintain a vigilant knowledge of all that once was. Her people have grown quiet and protective of their knowledge, especially after the evil Cyrabassis drove fear of persecution into their hearts.[/*]

Far Ancestry

Noteyalis had once been a great wanderer of this plane. From each toe that graced the earth came gifts and curses of plague, fertility, darkness and light without any order or reason. They danced across the dessert leaving temporary crossroads and wells of arcane within the wake, springs that bubbled with acidic death and flowers that bloomed with the promises of deep magic that consumed and enlightened the people. They could call upon the dead and transfer the energies of life among plants, animals and even the divine with words and sacrifice.

It was a time before the great city state Dara was ruminating in destiny, before the moon had found a rhythm, and even before great Watchers of Balance had climbed to the height of their thrones; Noteyalis grew bored of traveling and decided to try its hand at creating something permanent, something relevant. The other divine beings had already begun to covet the lush forests of the east and the great mountains of the north. They traded and bargained allegiances and totems, but Noteyalis had no need for the deceptively pleasant border drawing of their counterparts. And then she stumbled upon Choachyte.

It is said that upon finding the barren and desolate desert Noteyalis released a bellow of pride so enticing that the river broke from its path and came to her heel. And in Choachyte the moon found a lover that influenced the curse of permanence and order. The land grew slowly, carefully. Noteyalis unmoving presence coaxed all means of plant and animals to her, the arcane magic leaking from her being into the sand and traveling like roots about the area. Not to be outdone by the creation of humans, soul carriers, they pulled at the clay and the roots and the bones of her other majestic creations to embody the elf.

Noteyalis busied itself with creation until there seemed little left to create without threatening the perfection…and then they exceeded their reaches. She began the formation of the great mangrove, a crossroads that muddled the distinctions of this plane and affected all the land for miles. (Some elven scholars argue that it was from the mangrove that their descendants departed. Some believe it was from the loins of Noteyalis itself. All agree that without Noteyalis the Elven race would never have been brought into existence.) The tree arched upwards to the sky in a feat of size that had never been attained by a mortal being, caressing the face of the moon which Choachyte longed for so immensely.

The other Gods turned on Noteyalis, scoffing at her creations, enraged by the bending of laws carried out on the plane, surely jealous at the reach that Noteyalis possessed. They began to plot against Noteyalis and the chaos that harkened her being. Their followers began to spread rumors and misconceptions about Noteyalis and her people that, to this day, influence an underlying current of distrust and fascination with the area and the elven kind. It was during this time that the bowels of the Mangrove became sanctuaries, temples and libraries dedicated to Noteyalis and their teachings. The myriad of hidden catacombs within the living tree boasted entrances beneath the waters of the timeless spring and hidden beneath unmarkable sands of the desert.

Some claim it was the Watchers of Balance who offered up the final deceit to Noteyalis; though more claim that it was the jealousy and cruel sibling of Noteyalis, Cavi’antu, who was to be eternally blamed. While the perpetrator varies in the stories, the circumstances do not. Noteyalis was offered a truce that was to be discussed and negotiated during the suns prodigious eclipse, but no truce was to be claimed. As Noteyalis extended a hand on decided terms she was met with an infectious pestilence that clawed into her physical self and tethered the God to the Mangrove. In fear that the Mangrove would not prove tomb enough to the paralyzed God the others assaulted the tree with ferocity so immense that the tree cracked and fell into 5 points that stretched across the desert. Each point was said to represent a culmination of distinct fractions of Noteyalis’ former self. Even paralyzed and shattered Noteyalis influence was present. Those in tune with land and with the arcane currents could feel the soft whispers, prominent in the willing dreamer.

And if it was up to the humans, all of this would by myth; myth mostly forgotten or purposefully erased. But where the tree had fallen it stayed, and so too did the Elven people stay. The great city state of Choachyte was an unmovable testament to Noteyalis, oft disguised as a desert haven turned merchant refuge. Its population boasted thousands from a variety of races, living amongst the fallen tree as it curled through their landscape and their dreams. The government was a republic that leaned closer to aristocracy; as it seems that prominent families within the city maintained their power throughout the political hierarchy. The cities leaders mirrored the population’s diversity in race and ideals; rarely were the Elven representatives displaced as majority.

Character History

Amongst the Elven community births are a great celebration. They are not as fertile as humans and so births are not near as common and are seen as one of the ultimate blessings. The fact that she was the second child born to aristocratic parents was cause for a gala that lasted over a week and was mirrored each year in a celebration for both her brother and herself. Her childhood between these weeks held much of the same; servants supplying delicacies and etiquette, elders constantly handing out gems of knowledge and running nightly in the woods with the many pets her Mother had accumulated. Her mother, an elegant and joyful woman, told elaborate fairy tales about the tree, magic and animals of legend which sometimes even included ornate puppet shows and scenes played out by the household staff. She knew nothing but joy and happiness as a child.

When she was 4 it was her brother’s turn to choose his path. Humans occasionally scoff at the suffering of being forced into a path because of your parents, but that was one of the trivialities of human nature she judged them for. It was an honor that her brother was invited into the folds of the church, focusing on politics and economics as her father had. Had he not been apt at these subjects it is sure that the family would have made consolations for him, but he excelled away from the nest and even at the age of 4 Amunet was proud. Without her brother little of the joy was removed from her house for now she occupied the full attention of her mother.

When it was her time the already strong willed youth stood before them, much more pensive than her brother had been. Her brother had fulfilled the expectations and her own choice was much less defined. She held her head up tall and still dark hair threatened to brush across the soft fertile dirt within the Mangrove. A woman, aged almost to a century, leaned forward towards the girl, a large smile creeping across her wrinkled lips. “What occupies your dreams child?” Amunet told them about her dreams, not her goals, but the monsters and saviors that came to her and whispered and smelled of mangrove. Perhaps her dreams were influenced by the stories of her mother, but perhaps they were influenced by Noteyalis? Her fate hung in limbo and a second meeting was called a week later.

At this meeting a goat hung, baying in its discomfort. Her mother walked her into the room and then was asked to leave. When her mother returned to collect her child and the answer Amunet stood, a sickle in hand and covered in the blood of the goat. At first her mother’s face scared the small child. Had she done something wrong? Was this not the way? But then the tears gave way to a smile and she collected the child. “You will follow in my footsteps little one and your life will be full of secrets adventure!” It was this promise that carved the determination of success into her previously lackadaisical attitude. One week later she moved out of the house and into the dormitories with the rest of her chosen path. They were to be trained in the knowledge and religious dealings of the elven community and more specifically, of the Somnus of Noteyalis (the Sons).

Her life became a routine in which nothing was old or routine. In the fading light of dusk they would awaken and for 2 hours they belonged to physical trainer, elders that taught them of stealth, combat and tested their physical limits. This was the norm amongst all Elven training. What followed was specific not only to the chosen path, but also to the Elven child in training. The majority of her training was in studying the religious books and practices of the Sons. Finally, before they allowed themselves sleep, they would as a group or alone meditate on the lessons of the day within the heart of the mangrove, an ethereal place reserved for those headed towards priesthood.

She spent 10 years training, absorbing all forms of knowledge and seeing her family only during the Festival of the Crying Moon. Her mother marked the changes in her daughter, watching over the years how her innocent smile became one composed of joyful secrets and then, in Amunets 16th year her mother saw the allure in that enigmatic smile and stunning blue eyes and knew that soon her daughter would want more; but the motherly fear in her gut came from the destiny that blazed behind the blue pools in her eyes, threatening to surge.

It was no surprise at 16 when she chose to continue and focus her training. An elven child had never turned their back on the chosen path of the Sons. Her studies became more immense and immersive. Days were spent in meditation while her body was tattooed and pierced; she would focus on the pain and sacrifice she was entitled to. She learned of sacrifice beyond herself; the differences between energies in self-sacrifice and forced sacrifice. She learned about the stars and their promises. She learned how to provide attainable answers from questions that she had ruminated on for hours. She learned how to lead.

At 22 she was already a fierce leader amongst her peers and was well respected by her elders for her passion and enthusiasm. She was drawn to Dara because of the allure of leaving home, but also because it was a believable sell to her people. She told them she would research the likelihood of a sect. which would strengthen their business dealings; from exotic gems and produce to teachers and herbalists to astronomers and sooth sayers. The majority of their sales were in knowledge, or in other services for those willing to bargain with morality. She knew that to convince the Sons to allow a break and movement of some of their people away from the Mangrove would be a tough sell, but at that age she really didn’t care whether or not they moved to Dara. She only cared that she would be allowed to travel.

She became wrapped up with the Gaurdians and grew a debt amongst her fellow fighters that tethered her to Dara for eternity. She felt that her brothers in arms had experienced something that created a bond almost more immense than that which she shares with her people, for even if her people *believe* in the depths of good, evil and chaos that stem from this world, her fellow warriors have seen it. After peace was reached within Dara she returned home for a short time and petitioned her case for their dealings in Dara. She was granted permission and has been establishing and assisting all Sons activity in Dara ever since. The Sons do not have laws regarding the sexual activities or unions of their people or Priestess. She has had her fair share of companions and lovers but has never been married and has never been blessed with a child. The latter is not rare, for conception is not a guarantee among the Elven kind.

Psychological Profile

The effects of trauma ring differently for everyone. Upon her first glance at the monstrosities they faced she grew even more reverent in the beliefs. She took Cyrabassis as proof that the story of Noteyalis and all of the ancient teachings they had collected were true. She had lost much of her innocence in the womb of the mangrove, but outside of the mangrove she had lost her faith. While Pykas may have ripped the last piece of innocence, he restored her faith to the degree that she no longer required it. She knew it was true. It was as if Noteyalis herself had sat down at her dinner table and confirmed the truth.

Her personality had always been judgmental and reserved. She spoke little and listened always and read between the lines of what people truly meant. She preferred the empty night sky to the light of the day, and the light of the moon trumped all. She was not the type to over indulge, but she would dabble in all of life experiences. While her occupation was religious it was an often made mistake to take her as from the same mold of other religions, but it would be a mistake to believe that the Sons based their practices on the morality of men. Many mistook her silent nature for something else, but in truth her mind was constantly obsessing or contemplating over something.

Equipment

• Bagh Nakh – claw gauntlets. A traditional weapon of the Choachyte.[/*]
• Collection of tomes and grimoires located in the depths of the mangrove tree. As of now the books are mostly indecipherable and useless despite the lore held within.[/*]

Titles/Holdings/Power Base

• High Priestess of Somnus of Noteyalis, oft referred to as the Sons. The religious group is rather secretive and membership is dictated (95% of the time) by familial relations. Some members, including Amunet, are openly aligned, but the majority of practitioners are only assumed. The group not only manages religious services with its members but also plays host to political and economic functions in and out of the membership. She has strong stakes in the dealings of her followers within Dara, where many of them do not reside full time, playing a sort of proxy for their business endeavors. It is important to note that their moral code is not the same as the majority of Dara’s population; some of their dealings are seen as less than savory, and on occasion illegal. The convulsion of ownership is diluted within the membership so it makes it difficult to assign responsibility, both legally and morally, if ever the City State chose to do so.[/*]
• The majority of Sons communications are less than formal and take place within the homes of the members, though in the case of a crisis, birth, death, union or other ceremonial need they do have a ‘temple’. It is located 9 km outside of town towards Choachyte, but then one must turn off the main road at the ambiguous mangrove root wrapped about a large dark stone and south towards stream another 5km south. The temple, like those in Choachyte, are hidden within the natural surroundings and do not boast impressive architecture, or really any architecture for that matter. The place of worship consists of underground caverns which form a maze. If one should be able to navigate the maze they would be able to locate a library, a handful of ceremonial rooms and a dormitory of sorts.[/*]
• They have a strong history of trading favors; and are well respected for upholding their ends of agreements and inflicting suffering upon those who do not do the same. Once a person has lost favor they are essential black listed from any dealing with the Sons. While this may not seem relevant to some there is a large amount of knowledge held within their books, including black mail on many prominent families and influential people. There are rumors that the Sons have been involved in the death of more than one Dara resident; though the witness’ accounts are frail and the motive is usually as convoluted as their ownership.[/*]
• Amunet’s family has long held a place amongst the representatives of Choachyte and without a doubt her family expects her to take accountability if ever her Father and Brother can no longer bare the honor. This also extends to maintaining their hold on the secrets and collections of the Sons, as well as tending to the economic holdings of the clan along with the other family heads.[/*]
• She was also accompanied by 2 Silent Elven guards, being that she was of high importance in their aristocracy protection was never a question or a compromise, it was a given. The lifestyle of the guards is defined at a young age when an Elven man or woman, usually of a lower class, decides to enroll in training. The training is vigorous, as it is with most chosen Elven disciplines, and cuts the child off from their family and friends. Their support and family becomes those around them, uniting them. At the age of 16 the Elven guards in training are again allowed the free will choice of leaving the guards in favor of another lifestyle or continuing with their training. It is at this point that those who take the vow are given to the ceremonial masters. The training from this point until their release at the age 20 is undisclosed, even to Amunet. When they are full members of the guard they voluntarily remove their tongue as a symbol of obedience and silence.[/*]

Relationships

• WIP

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Lunatae

L U N A T A E

^{h e l l e n i s t i c e r a m a e n a d ; b a c c h a e}

[ P e r s o n a l i t y ]

She was something of an enigma, a being that literally emitted frenzy possessed an outlook almost wholly lackadaisical. Perhaps this was owed in part that to simply survive herself was challenge enough. Most things were trivial, some humorous and very few worthy of focused attention. A first impression was hard to reconcile with what most ‘expected’. She had survived the fall of empires and even races. She had watched as the first man gained control over elements and animals, but never over himself. She was a bubbly flighty thing, speaking in exaggerated hand gestures of long dead philosophies and then you would catch her blazing with a drunken fury as she ripped into the flesh of an infant. She would giggle and gossip, batting lashes over brilliant angelically demonic eyes, playing the role of extended youth throwing lavish parties of heightened ecstasy and then the façade would crumble and the vicious untrusting minx would whisper ancient magic directly assaulting what sanity one who keeps the company of such a creature might have. She is not overly intelligent, despite her age, and has a tendency towards trivial grudges that last centuries.

◆ ◆ ‡ ◆ ◆

[ H i s t o r y ]

Her beginning clawed into the minds of the earliest humans, breeding the race of maenads as their souls hummed for a means of release from the confines placed by their God. She doesn’t remember her own birth, no more than she remembers the waves of time that have passed over her clouded in an orgy of desecration. Her peak was in the time of the Greeks and Romans; a time in which her God was worshipped amongst the humans and revered in the gluttony of upper class. The maenads were strong then, living in the woods together yet venturing into the cities without fear. They hunted the bulls in the woods, taking them down together. They laid in exhaustion amongst fine pillows, dreaming together. They played music and screamed and howled at the moon, dancing naked together.

The memories of this time still roll over her with a delightful nausea of something truly and utterly lost. Once the humans began to band together against the monsters they ran and it seems as if one day she turned to look about her as she ran and she was alone. They had no way to hide. They were helpless in concealing their abilities. Even when she focused all of her attention on stifling; reaching the point of hysterical sobbing and retracted all love she had for her God, it still trickled from her as inherent to her being as the soft smell of honey. For short bursts of time she would play her part of normality. She hid herself for a year in a rotting yet boisterous whore house in the heart of London. She was tired. Tired of running. Tired of herself. The only happiness she had was the influence she subtly placed upon the house, but this couldn’t last.

The first warning sign came with a shrill scream early in the morning. One of the whores had mistaken her client for a raging bull and she was hysterical. Her naked lithe form twitched in a corner, dripping blood from her pale skin and a dull bed post that she refused to release as she ranted and raved about his intentions to spear her with a horn. The man appeared ordinary to everyone else; save the large gaping hole in his chest where the bed post had been securely lodged. Some even chuckled and shared jokes that incorporated the “spearing” and the “horn” varying in who was giving it to who. The poor disillusioned girl was carted off to an insane asylum while the mistress of the house did everything she could to contain the story and rumors that were sure to affect their business. Then one night the house became a cacophony of sounds that, to this day, are simply described as indescribably wicked. The scene that unfolded before anyone unfortunate enough to bear witness was an elaborate web of debauchery and defilement; limbs scattered about in perverse and precarious situations, simply remnants in comparison to the disjointed forms of their origin. Wine puddles blended seamlessly with the puddles of blood and other excretions; staining a myriad of pillow feathers, glass, flayed flesh, wood and ceramics – anything that was unlucky enough to have been present had ceased to exist outside of this new Frankenstein testimonial to indulgence.

And this is where they found her, those men in fleshy robes. How they knew to come looking is irrelevant now, but they beat the police and the hunters, finding the exhausted minx perched amongst the not yet decaying filth. Had it not been for her lazy arm movements moving cigarette from lips to side, barely dodging the refuse, they would have missed her. She lounged amongst the scene like a bored monarch and only barely raised a brow as they spoke to her. Once they finished she stood, naked and covered in all means of fluids and material, so much so that none of them could have described her skin tone or hair color without referencing the violent cerise tint. She followed them, her demeanor still the bored monarch and as the stepped outside the fire that would consume the place had already begun from that lingering cigarette.

◆ ◆ ‡ ◆ ◆

[ O t h e r ]

Her abilities incite a frenzy in those around her. Inebriation, sex, rage and all forms of revelry reach a height beyond gluttony. It is often that the mood will overtake the maenad as well and her appetites will turn to flesh; be it rabbit, deer, werewolf or human child (and everything in between). The influences of her abilities differ depending on a multitude of factors; date proximity to the festival of their God, race, age, mood, predisposition/mental strength, ect.

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Marie

Mᴀʀɪᴇ-Mɪᴄᴀ Sᴏᴜᴠᴀɴᴇʟʟᴇ

T w e n t y - S e v e n ❆ F e m a l e ❆ T h r e e S n a k e s

ᴛ ʜ ʀ ᴇ ᴇ s ɴ ᴀ ᴋ ᴇ s

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetuer adipiscing elit. Aenean commodo ligula eget dolor. Aenean massa. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Donec quam felis, ultricies nec, pellentesque eu, pretium quis, sem. Nulla consequat massa quis enim. Donec pede justo, fringilla vel, aliquet nec, vulputate eget, arcu. In enim justo, rhoncus ut, imperdiet a, venenatis vitae, justo. Nullam dictum felis eu pede mollis pretium. Integer tincidunt. Cras dapibus. Vivamus elementum semper nisi. Aenean vulputate eleifend tellus. Aenean leo ligula, porttitor eu, consequat vitae, eleifend ac, enim. Aliquam lorem ante, dapibus in, viverra quis, feugiat a, tellus. Phasellus viverra nulla ut metus varius laoreet. Quisque rutrum. Aenean imperdiet. Etiam ultricies nisi vel augue. Curabitur ullamcorper ultricies nisi. Nam eget dui. Etiam rhoncus. Maecenas tempus, tellus eget condimentum rhoncus, sem quam semper libero, sit amet adipiscing sem neque sed ipsum. Nam quam nunc, blandit vel, luctus pulvinar, hendrerit id, lorem. Maecenas nec odio et ante tincidunt tempus. Donec vitae sapien ut libero venenatis faucibus. Nullam quis ante. Etiam sit amet orci eget eros faucibus tincidunt. Duis leo. Sed fringilla mauris sit amet nibh. Donec sodales sagittis magna. Sed consequat, leo eget bibendum sodales, augue velit cursus nunc

ᴅ ɪ ᴇ ᴛ ʏ

Vodou Practicioner; assortment of beliefs from African, French and Haitian culture. She most often appeals to the Simbi (Snake & Water Loa), the Barons (Baron Samedi, La Croix, Simitye) and the Ghedes. In addition she makes offerings to Agwe (Loa spirit of the sea), Papa Legba (gate keeper to speak to the Loa), her Ancestor’s (specifically Mama Djeyma) and Jehovah and Jesus(you can never have to many friends in the spirit world).

s ᴋ ɪ ʟ ʟ s ᴇ ᴛ

❆ Walk the crossroads; Communicate with the dead and delve into the invisible world.
❆ Ouanga; Charms, Amulets, Herbs and Potions of protection and harm.
❆ Combat; Respectable skills in hand to hand combat and with a knife.

ʜ ɪ s ᴛ ᴏ ʀ ʏ

WIP

[+]

Ravens Ash

In the 16th century many new gods and demons began to arrive in New Orleans. Some came willingly and others were forced here, chained and resentful; almost all were ravenous. They united and bred, fought and destroyed, alongside those fixed to the visible world. It would be impossible to point at the beginnings of the Ash Zombi; they stirred in the beating drums of Haiti, between the psalms and lips of the Europeans, down to the carnivorous feasts of the Atakapa. It came to pass that the wickedness reigned through their streets, spewing souls and morality into the quickly flowing river where it became lost. Where there is despair, hope shall be our strongest weapon. By participating in the danse avec la morte, which was titled beautifully in an ironic wistfulness, they traded a piece of their soul with the Ghede, willingly accepting them as their Bokor. Not everyone survived the danse, and often it was hard to reconcile the new shell with the person who had begun the ritual. Within hours the ghede zombi’s would meditate on their new shell while palms were burned around at them, and at the end the ash cross was placed on their forehead symbolizing a purification and sorrow for their committed sins, but mostly as a preemptive measure for the sins they would soon hold.
Vodou poisons, potions, charms and amulets
Orunmila – divination, the future
Ogun- god of battle, war, bloodlust
Oya- volatile emotion, natural disaster, chaos, death, illusion

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Dihira

Name/Titles:

Dihira, the Dark Librarian, the Serpent of Knowledge, Mistress of the House of Books, Mother of Serpents, Mother of Monsters

Gender:

Female

Patronage:

Knowledge, Learning/Study, Memory, Secret Knowledge (including ancient/lost spells), Blackmail, and reptiles in a loose sense. (she is responsible for this symbolism of reptiles hoarding in a nest and guarding treasures, metaphorically, as well as the serpent in the garden that tempted with forbidden knowledge.)

Parentage:

Dihira is a divine entity born of a forbidden liason between her father, Svanus the Greenfather, a primal deity of the woods that long since has passed, and Iora, a queen of trolls and the like, still worshiped but of little power.

Pantheon/Affiliation:

Deity, but one that only loosely owes her allegiance to Aroesus and Krona. She is technically one of them, but is an outsider.

Appearance:

She normally appears as a half serpent/half woman(though her skin retains a greenish tint, most likely inherited from her mother); but can take the pure form of a serpent with a multitude of size variations.

Centres of Worship/Places of Power:

Dihira has no specific centers of worship, such as an actual city devoted to her, but most scribes, scholars, wise women and others of that bent, the seekers of knowledge, at least offer a token of goodwill in small altars to her honor. These places tend to be well hidden, in alcoves and knots of trees, in underground grottoes. Dihira's worshipers often fear persecution, because they know things and those with knowledge and strange ways to the ignorant are often the scapegoats of others in their hysteria. It is sufficient so say that she is not the ruler of a city, but rather a widely but quietly revered figure in the pantheon.

On the planes, she inhabits the tree Athosvid which has roots in the firmament between Hevas and Malebazus and is present in both planes. It allows her to move along this narrow channel between the two planes. She sees no need to move beyond this limited area, and the tree itself is, according to legend, possessed of interesting, though terrible powers. In Hevas, the tree bears a flower whose petals soothe aches and pains, though too much creates a dependency. In Malebazus, the bitter fruit of the tree brings on a terrible knowledge, at a price of one's sanity, which is chipped away with every bite. Such is the price of knowledge. Dihira’s father, Svanus, dead and dreaming form makes up the heart of the tree where his bones entwine with the horticultural feat. Somewhere in the caverns within Athosvid (yes, large enough to hold caverns) is a great library that she slithers through eternally, though even she hasn't been able to read everything in her library -- though she would never admit that to any other being.

Servants, Prominent Followers and Worship Base:

Scholars, wise women and others that thirst for knowledge. Musicians are known to be pleasing to her, particularly those musicians in certain places that coax snakes out of baskets with their flutes -- she likes that they make a show of the flute play when it's actually their movement and the stamping of their feet that bring these snakes out. Dihira loves irony. Among her followers are people that would kill and be killed for their knowledge, and so she is often paid tribute by those that value such things. Those that trade in secrets pay her considerable homage. Dihira's worshipers are not an army, but they are in many places.

Within the tree reside the Knowles which are small insect like creatures of rumored high intelligence. They gather knowledge from both planes. The Knowles are said to have been born with the tree and thus predate Dihira. They don’t speak and seem to have a psychic connection with Dihira for no one else has been seen to communicate with them. They do, without a doubt, communicate amongst themselves.

The tree is also home to Corks. As the library grew so did the number of Corks. The little rodent like tree dwellers seem to have a bond with literature and they help to maintain the library. It is assumed that the creatures have a grasp of written language. While the tree is their main point of residence they are occasionally glimpsed around other large collections of literature.

TL;DR Psychology:

Dihira is a serpent, and therefore appreciates that knowledge often can have a bite to it. She doesn't merely enjoy knowledge that is on the up and up, dead languages and reputable sorts of studies, she also adores darker types of lore that ranges from secret histories of famous rulers (often unflattering to said ruler) to blackmail material, items best left destroyed and other such things. The items tend to range from amusing songs about tyrants long dead that were sung in secret, to accounts of religions practiced in secret despite persecution to the most disgusting and horrible experiment results possible. She relishes information and secrets, but also enjoys a good tale -- what pleases her most is the application of knowledge, the working of intelligence to overcome problems. And so she favors the subtle approaches, the cunning innovations and is a lover of creativity. But as a reptile, albeit a divine reptile, at heart, she is invested in her own survival and her own needs above others -- so while she may be able to dispense information, it often comes at a price.

As it were, she has a soft spot for humanity -- they were a bunch of hairy cave dwellers that figured out knowledge, often at great risk to themselves, and hoarded it. What plants to eat, how to make a spear, how to hunt a beast. She still enjoys humanity, though some humans have lost that creative spark that made them so special to her, and so she stopped doling out quite so many hints these days. Some mortals retain her favor, but it is often the ones that use cunning to their advantage, that use what's between their ears.

With the imprisonment and death of her husband and the attempted genocide of her children a corruption set into her mind, feeding into an obvious dislike and distrust for the majority of the Gods. This didn’t make her as resentful and hateful as one may believe, at least not on a permanent basis. Perhaps her lack of outward rage can be attributed to the calming influence of Svanus. Immortality effects the Gods differently. She possesses a wandering mind that often rambles but can slip extremely private knowledge into her off the wall conversations so it is worth paying attention. It can be absolutely aggravating to need a specific answer from Dihira. Questions are usually met with veering conversations that have nothing, or a subtly everything, to do with the question. This may be in part because she wants people to find their own answers, or she doesn’t want them to have the answer and she refuses to lie. While being extremely intelligent these qualities often make her appear naive and crazy; whether or not this is intentional is her own secret.

Psychology

Appreciates all knowledge; from the demented to the divine.
Knowledge often comes at a price, for ultimately she is self-serving.
Admires humans; specifically the creative, the innovators, the knowledge seekers.
Distrusts the Gods.
Has a rambling and wandering mind/conversation. Appears Crazy.
Does not lie and believes that needing to lie is a weakness of mind.

History:

As her arrival into this world pressed forward, her mother, the Troll Queen, worried for the fate of her child; being that she was born of a forbidden liaison to a dying father and a mother who could not hope to protect her from the wrath of the Gods. Her father, tragically in tune with his dying shell made a deal with Athosvid and took the fetus of his daughter into his mind and aligned his own bones with heart of the great tree. His daughter’s growth continued in this solace, nibbling at the mind of her father and absorbing the unnatural venoms that coursed through the tree.

As humanity evolved and knowledge made them more than they were originally, so did Dihira gain considerable power and prestige. She did not entice the typical heroes; bronzed, chiseled and built for battle. Her heroes usually wore their greatness within, but they were heroes nonetheless and they did come. They were determined and strong willed, or filled with folly and hungry for truths that they could rarely stomach. Old women with crippled and knotted muscles would find the courage or need to climb amongst the flowers in search of Dihira. Young men puzzled and lost would seek refuge amongst the caverns, but it was known that in seeking Dihira death would be the pleasant loss, for insanity beckoned strongly and the knowledge she offered had easily claimed more addicts than the flowers.

Her power grew and so did her confidence and sustainability so that when the first great monster, a chaotic and misunderstood beast of terrifying beauty, came calling she was helpless from her heart. Titalarus was an old being, born of the chaos of creation and marginalized as a dying necessity. They were united under the love of truth and certainty that resounded from their allegiance to nature; Titalarus and Dihira, father and mother of monsters and serpents.

Their union caused a brow raise from the other Gods, but as their children began to roam the realms a true fear gripped at the Gods. From their unification came the hoarding dragons, the basilisks guarding treasure and secrets alike, and serpents of many degrees. The birthed the great Hydra, the Chimera and the Gorgons of legends passed. In the beginning her children, specifically the Gorgons, taught and shared knowledge with people, teaching them ancient secrets that the Gods guarded as special. The voices of the Gods grabbed and grated at the ear of Aroesus, complaining of the union, complaining of the offspring and rallying for justice. Something had to be done.

It was Titalarus that was first singled out by Aroesus. He knew that something so primal and vicious could not be allowed to roam free and so he offered Titalarus a deal, conform to the pantheon or be forever enslaved and fractured beneath Mount Hismues. Aroesus had no intention of allowing the beast to live, but he knew with utmost certainty that the offer would be refused. A mallet was taken to the frozen form and true to his word Aroesus fractured and buried Titalarus beneath the mountain. It was after this that he approached Dihira and he had hopes; she was knowledgeable and resourceful, she would conform. Dihira, still hissing and tense with rage at the imprisonment of her husband offered only a maniacal laugh in the face of “their” leader.

Aroesus urged her to reconsider as the culling of her children began. With her second refusal he took the voice from the Gorgons and the extermination continued. Dihira felt helpless and perhaps for the first time in her life, she felt fear. She went to Nihris, kin of her husband, and pleaded with her to hide her children. Nihris was sympathetic, but she had already seen how this plays out and she cautioned Dihira that it would do no good, that the God King was merciless and the only way to save her children would be to submit, for now. So when Aroesus returned to Dihira, her head hung low, she bargained her allegiance if only they would spare her children. It was now Aroesus turn to laugh for no promises would be set in stone. He did agree to speak with the others and Dihira knew that was the best she could expect from the frivolous and impulsive bunch.

A deal was struck. It is said that as she mourned for her loss the tree mourned with her, increasing the negative effects associated with both the fruit and flowers. Since then her moments of joy have been few and far between, though existent. There was a cruel uplifting passion as she watched the Gods eat the fruit of Malebazus, especially Aroesus. Exceptional humans could also claim a piece of her happiness and she openly cooed with delight as they asked the unanswerable questions and sought knowledge.

Relationships:

& Nanaeios (Asuras)
& Mikazliqui (Dead Cruiser)
& Morios (MelonHead)
& Vael and Nys (Ruby)
& Metanoia (Crazy Guy)
& Dareos (Squrmy)

& Nihris (The Fair Lady) Titalarus, Dihira’s husband, was the elder brother of Nihris, born an outcast by misfortune, his siblings always seemed to have a soft spot for him, and he for them. Nihris was present at their union, braving a happy face for the couple. Nihris was the first, and only, that Dihira went to out of fear for her children when threatened by the God King because Nihris had suffered through the same. She feels indebted to the woman and they share a common bond of loss and hatred. Dihira has to be weary of spending too much time with Nihris because the woman’s sullen nature quickly rubs off on her, with obvious reason, and they often begin plotting. She finds it thrilling and painful to go down that road, especially when they both feared Aroesus.

& Lefredias (Hellis) The God's dominion over change, uncertainty and rebellion would occasionally intersect with her goals. Where they would disagree is in the way rebellions should be handled. While Lefredias calls for blood, she attempts to persuade him to use knowledge as a form of rebellion. He has come to her and asked for knowledge that will help drive a rebellion (dirty secrets on the rulers, weapons knowledge) and while she isn't always forthcoming with what he wants, she often gives him a piece of what he needs. She has also traded favors with him for his interaction and protection of the knowledge seekers whom come under disfavor of their rulers and are persecuted for their beliefs. She subtly encourages his interest in her to fulfill her needs of protecting her own followers. While uncertainty can led to seeking knowledge they are entirely at odds when his followers grow complacent with their uncertainty. He challenges her with uncertainty often and they do enjoy good conversation.

& Eskellon (ActraiserTheReturned)

& Sileon (HeySeuss) After the butchering of her children her rage toward Sileon was palpable, though even this paled in comparison for her rage against Aroesus. She was intelligent enough to know that Sileon was more a force of nature than a cruel force. Her conversations with Svanus quelled her anger as her father explained that his brother did as he was told, and following directions was the closest form of right and wrong she could expect. Over the years her feelings towards the God became more of reverent distaste than any sort of rage or hatred. They were natural oppositions, knowledge and pure natural action. She thought Sileon to be dull when it came to intelligence, but did not want to fall to the man's bad side again. She kept the secret of Svanus from Sileon, waiting until the right moment to play the card of withholding/offering the fearful God solace from his (only?) surviving brother.

& Phoebeus (Benevolette)
& Lathunis (singmesweetly)
& Mysia (Zacharius)

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Delphine

Name:
Delphine Bonnie Petiot
Age/DOB:
15 ; December 3 1928
Gender:
Female

Physical Description:

School

Work

Skills/Psychological Profile:

-Fluent in French, Latin (Catholic), German (bar/café worker) and bits of other languages she has picked up working in the bar.
-Charismatic to a tee with patience to match; probably stems from tolerating café patrons.
-Silver tongued; she has always been able to talk herself out of a situation.
-Psychologically manipulative. Almost always appear trustworthy. Perhaps her physique, or her mannerisms, or her soft spoken/coy nature; people usually find themselves relinquishing private information and taking her words at face value.
-Borderline Machiavellian personality behavior; The Prince is her favorite novel.

History:

Delphine is the 3rd child born to Jean and Marion Petiot. Her parents were born in Paris. Her mother, Marion, was raised in a Catholic orphanage and her father came from a family of shop workers that were barely clinging to middle class. They met and married young and decided to strike out away from the city. That seemed ages ago, though their childhood is worth mention because the nurture aspect continued to affect their children. Delphine’s parents had always been the “keep your head down and be invisible” types.

They opened the bar/café “Porte Cachée”; they worked hard and they went to church, and most importantly they kept their mouths closed. They were the neighbors that no one even bothered to gossip about. Even their children, and they had 7 in good Catholic fashion, adapted to this silent meek personality. All except Delphine and her eldest brother Bertrand.

When France began to turn against its own people her brother Bertrand, who was by far her favorite sibling and her only true friend, was “recruited”. Her parents were convinced that in the long run this was a good thing. Her brother would learn to mellow his personality and their house would have contributed to the Vichy. They smiled and hugged her brother. They let him/made him leave, and she would never forgive any of them.

She rested on her knees, hands crossed, and spoke to the Father about all of the anger that was building up inside her. Why couldn’t God give her the temperament and ability to accept what was? The father spoke to her then as he would any child. He attempted to quell her anger and lead her down a path of forgiveness. It wasn’t until she exited confession that the Father offered up another path. A path would give her anger a path of expression that would not lead to a sickness and a corruption in her soul.

Porte Cachée thrived in the Vichy rule. This influenced her parents to become even more accepting of the new politics than they already were. She feigned a change of heart after her conversation with the Priest, easily passing her anger off as normal teenage rebellion/angst. Her parent's accepted this, mainly because they wanted to believe that their 2nd rebellious child had turned over a new leaf. She even offered to pick up more and more work at the Café and eased the burden of parenthood and bar management for her parents.

Relatives/Relations/Contacts:
(Not all relations will be listed due to irrelevance at this time)
WIP lovelies

Mutt

WIP

Name: Sharhn’Rak “Mutt”
Age: 14

Appearance:

She was small for an Orc, 5’4”, with a lithe form congruent with consistent cardio. Most definitely a runt. She normally stood extremely straight when on two legs because it required focus to not fall into an animalistic stance. Her skin is a dark green crossed with scars; it varied from the average Orc warrior in that there were many visible warg induced scratches and bites, and she had a multitude of healed scars inconsistent for her age. Both ears were stitched with thin strips of leather hugging like many snug earrings, accented with small metal spikes. Dread locked pitch black hair hung past her hips. It was usually tied up, revealing the right side where her head was shaved and painted the red of her new pack. The coloring thinned and focused across her jaw into a design of a warg like teeth. Her own teeth were sharper than average, still exhibiting Orc canines, both lower and upper, that were significantly larger than the surrounding teeth. Her eyes looked like a stagnant death, pale from lack of exposure to sunlight with an odd range of dilation that changed their appearance in different conditions; allowing glimpses at a hallow darkness.

Skills/Abilities:

Warg Communication; ability seeming entirely unnatural, yet completely natural for her. Full communication through audible, visual and pheromone.
Heightened Senses; conditioning, environment and upbringing. Night vision, quick reaction to movement. hearing, smell and instincts all above average.
Blood Craze; when the pack spills blood she becomes over taken with frenzy and falls into a haze of destruction alongside the pack.
Complete Loyalty; to those that earn it her loyalty is not corruptible.
Weapon’s Training; average training with both a Bow and Katar, increased effectiveness due to well maintained physical condition.

History:

She was born the runt of a wealthy warg keeper that lived tucked into the bowels of a large mountain; their land and the warg’s entrapment steadily seeping into the forest surrounding. She had a name when she was born, one she should recall because it fell from the lips of her father as he died, but she didn’t. Her father hated her size, all her perceived weakness and precognition told failures, and he could barely stand the sight of her. That’s all she remembered of them as a family. She was two when the ever growing brittleness that defined Mutt’s infestation in the household ceased. She was tossed out with the bones and scraps to the immense warg pack. While this was a kindness in comparison to the repelling life offered in the house, it was surely not intended that the child would survive. She survived.

She had no interaction with people for another 4 years. The land afforded to the wargs was large enough for her to duck in and out of catacombs and deny her slovenly origins. The choice wasn’t difficult on her end, though many have pondered as to why the wargs would have accepted her. The most believable say it is because she was useful in a way that tiny tools can be useful to large things. The deep, yet not demobilizing wounds that licked across her skin where proof enough that they had accepted her as one of their own, for she retained no ability above any other orc in defending herself against a warg intent on dinner. She had somehow learned to barter and survive on their playing field and while she may have become limited in social graces, most expected this of an orc anyways.

She was sold, beaten for disobedience, burdened with surviving in the core of debased orc filth, demonized by outside races and coerced by the orcs, all alongside the wargs. Then one day an orc came to purchase a couple of battle tested wargs for assistance on the field. Her present company was delighted; fortunately she had been rather disobedient as of late and they had been grumbling about her influence for weeks, and this orc, he looked like he could break her. And if not, no loss to them. After some harsh negotiations Kharkus walked away with a handful of wargs and an 8 year old Mutt.

2 years later Mutt and Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi’s small pack of wargs and growing company of orcs was beginning to take a semblance of stability. While their official title was purchased, for the first time Mutt no longer felt enslaved. Her old masters haunted her dreams and brought forth whimpers of torment and rage from the huddled mass of sleeping wargs. Strangely the orcish concept of revenge alluded her conscious and she thought only of their beastly brethren that resided in the soul crippling claws of others. It was a mournful and sad song that her pack called out to. One day, they had disappeared. Some whispered of Mutts dissent, some of her fearful nature. Then one day the camp awoke and there were no longer 5 wargs that nestled with Mutt in slumber, there were 45, and they seemed content to sleep off their fat bellies for days. New wargs arrived from time to time and it was accepted now. There was no point in asking Mutt questions, she rarely spoke anyways, and no answers had been given as of yet.