Opposition

Red Hoods: Little Red Riding Hood

Cool idea. I'm definitely interested.

The Visions: An Escapist Visionary's Personas

Tatiana Leviatan; The Black Shepherd

Name: Mother Tatiana (Thana) Leviatan

Age: 19

Height/Weight: 5’4” // 126 lbs

Race: Tatiana was said to have descended from a T’saeren immigrants to Lanostre, but that was all too many generations ago. For simplicity’s sake, she calls herself Lanostran.

Appearance:

Tatiana

Just glancing at Tatiana is enough to catch the general vibe she gives off. The girl’s posture is loose and relaxed, and she generally takes on a curved stance in some way, be it slumping over in a chair or cocking her hip to one side whilst upright. Either way, it is relatively uncommon to see Tatiana in that fully ready ‘at attention’ stance that one might expect of an inquisitor, lest such formalities were required. Despite this lax display, though, Tatiana tends to her appearance quite a bit. Her skin is rather fair, commonly enough for such a diluted bloodline in the Varyan expanse. Tatiana is visibly much less than one might expect in terms of a warrior’s body. She maintains a slim figure, with spindly limbs.

What appears even more readily presentable is Tatiana’s rounded visage and variable hairstyle. Her jet black locks curve to perfectly frame around her face, but otherwise maintain a straightened length falling just down to her shoulders. While it isn’t uncommon for Tatiana to allow her hair to be kept in such a straight and simple style, she is also known to tie her hair up in an updo, offering a much more practical look when it comes to trekking through plains of ice. Her emerald eyes appear prominent, visible through even the fiercest blizzards.

It isn’t always that Tatiana wears her inquisitor’s uniform, but even outside of such a regal outfit, Tatiana tends to dress herself quite elegantly. Often times, a plain white shirt, flaring slightly out at its end meets a pair of blue pants trimmed with a gold lining. Tatiana matches such an outfit with an officer’s coat of a similar blue and gold. She holds the article in rather high regard, under the impression its a sort of heirloom that her family has had for all too long now.

Personality:
Despite the strange circumstances that led to her becoming a priestess, Tatiana is rather gracious for her position- at least, it appears that way externally. She is friendly to all her fellow inquisitors, but it isn’t difficult to see that there is something off about her when it comes to actual operations. Outside of heavy mission sort of scenarios, Tatiana is much more light-hearted. It isn’t uncommon that she would throw around witty remarks and jokes despite the context of the situation. Of all the inquisitors, Tatiana may be viewed as one of the least matured. This extends even to her position as an ordained priest. She tends to view her position rather unseriously, despite the serious duty that her work encompasses. Even with this attitude, Tatiana rarely leaves her duties unaccomplished or sloppily done, but a certain hesitation accompanies her all too often, especially when she is tasked with carrying out Varya’s will.

Deep down, Tatiana has always struggled with her devotion to Varya. While she doesn’t dare dissent, she isn’t fully accepting of his conqueror practices. It is especially conflicting for her as she never fully accepted the ideals that her Lanostran homeland embodied either. This dissonance in her mind leaves Tatiana quite conflicted, and she thus views herself as something of an outcast and her outgoing practices act as her struggling to find a place for her in the companionship she forges. In the eyes of the public, Tatiana is often considered a very generous, moral, and people-minded person. This is juxtaposed by her abilities, however, leaving a certain air of concern exhibited by those in her presence. Strangely enough, while Tatiana is rather uninhibited socially, this can be turned down a notch when she finds herself away from her squad. She has grown far more comfortable with herself around her fellow inquisitors, but in public, things tend to be a slight bit different.

Background:
The young Thana (given the Varyan name of Tatiana) was born to a rather wealthy Lanostran family with parents emblematizing the epitome of duality. Her mother was a prominent Lanostran combatant, while her father was the perfect example of a man of science. It was the way of his family, and as such, he too, was also a journeyman in his field. Perpetuating the stereotype, Tatiana lived a rather pampered life with both her parents loving her greatly. There was more to the family than the lovely front than that, however.

Despite the boisterously prideful figure Tatiana’s mother was, she came to openly accept the idea that Lanostre would bow willingly Varyan sovereignty. Perhaps it was because of the consequences of dissent or perhaps it was simply reciprocal respect for allowing Lanostran warriors like herself to rank highly in the military. As time went on, though, it became clear to a young Tatiana that what spurred her mother’s subordination: fear… Thus, a false nationalism was born into the Leviatan family, which would inevitably lead to the coercion of Tatiana to pursue a profession as an inquisitor. Her feelings on the subject were rather mixed, but it seemed clear that she wasn’t the soldier her mother was. Even despite this clear ineptitude, when Tatiana finally came of age, she was sent out into the glacial wastes to slay her own demon.

The perilous journey was extremely hard on the girl. Before she had even made the trek to the black glacier alongside her father, Tatiana was already worn to her last breath. While other Lanostran children had honed skills, it appeared Tatiana was no match. When finally facing down one of the alien-like creatures, Tatiana stood weakly against its might. Within a short minute, she was almost horribly rended by the beast, obviously outmatched. Her cries for assistance seemed to fall on deaf ears, however. For some reason, Tatiana’s father held back despite his promises to rescue his child. It seemed just for the moment, he refused, intent on letting Tatiana fend for herself.

In that final moment, Tatiana felt herself falter. It was her end and there was nothing she could do. All that filled her panicking mind were rageful thoughts. How could her father have let this happen? As the creature tore forward in a final assault, Tatiana stopped herself, a moment of clarity rushing through her like an inventor’s insight. One word came to mind: Stop.

And with that simple thought, it seemed that just for a moment Tatiana’s inevitable fate was delayed. That single second delay was all Tatiana’s father needed to step in. Pride emanating from his very being. This was the first moment Tatiana had finally learned of her talents with Ether, and what followed was a long conversation with his father about their ancestors: a very particular T’saeren research team. Having finally found the prodigious talent of his daughter, Tatiana’s father devoted countless hours into raising his daughter as an inquisitor. He knew she may have the talents he witnessed in her trial at the Black Glacier, but he never told Tatiana what power she might have held.

The young woman was then nearly forced into her new lifestyle in the Red Seminary despite any reluctance. While she didn’t leave that day with the title of R'heon, Tatiana came out knowing of her large ether pool. Only weeks passed before Tatiana was shipped off to the Red Seminary. Her life completely turned upside down.

Talents/Ethereal Abilities:

Demonic Summoner - Deep within Tatiana lies an extremely powerful pool of ether. The largely untapped potential within her seems focused wholly on one particular ability: the enslavement and domination of the demons of the Black Glacier. Before the discovery of such, Tatiana’s time in the Red Seminary was just as she lived beforehand. A great deal of her time was spent trying to discover what abilities she held, but she was unsuccessful up until the point at which she was allowed to take the pilgrimage back to the Black Glacier. The extent of this ability is dizzyingly variable. The common principles shared by all summoners are the ability to command demonic entities at their will, and summon them to the summoner’s location. This combination allows for the ‘capturing’ of a demon in which a summoner wrests control from the demon’s mind away from the creature itself.

Tatiana has found herself capable of enslaving one of these creatures to come at her beck and call so far. It appears alien-like, bearing massive curled horns and fur tufts in a seemingly patched randomly around its body. One might say its visage almost resembles a goat’s, while its long tail resembles that of a rat. While unable to manipulate the world in nonphysical manners like other demons have the ability to do, Tatiana’s beast has immense physical prowess when it comes to both power and speed. Because of this, Tatiana acts as something of a commander for her frontline fighter.

Tatiana’s Demon

Symbiotic - Tatiana had spent a great deal of time in the Red Seminary believing herself to have no supernatural abilities. This almost got to the point where she felt useless in comparison to her comrades who each flourished in their own fields. This all changed when Tatiana discovered her excellence in working at the Black Glacier. Ever since her talent finally came to light, Tatiana has completely reworked her tactical abilities. In combat, it is often seen that Tatiana works almost flawlessly in conjunction with her summoned beasts, both her and the creatures working off of one another's strengths and weaknesses. One might even go as far as to compare them to symbiotic organisms.

Personal Seal:

Character Relationships

@Drakey
Rodion’s hard exterior is by no means a barrier Tatiana isn’t willing to breach for camaraderie. While he may not be as responsive as the other inquisitors, Tatiana gives him no less of a chance. In fact, it might seem she’s even more interested in befriending him as she sees it as a sort of challenge. This tall task is particularly accomplished by engaging Rodion in a manner Tatiana believes would most interest him. Drawing parallels between his work and her own, Tatiana often offers little bouts of challenge to Rodion in a sort of friendly competition, always pitting her demons against his mechanics to see who can accomplish more.

@deathbringer
Tatiana and Astraea have always had a complex dynamic. As Astraea bares the title of R’heon and Tatiana baring that of a summoner, the two are almost polar opposites in aspects of combat. While Tatiana tends to be quite accepting of Astraea’s disposition, save for a bit of discomfort, Astraea isn’t as much a fan of Tatiana’s work. This leaves for an awkward attempt at friendship on Tatiana’s part. While she does her best to accept her cohort fully, and would do anything to save her, she always had the feeling Astraea wouldn’t do the same if roles were reversed.

@Sisyphus
Hassan and Tatiana are definitely close, perhaps even the closest pair in the inquisition. Tatiana finds solace in the comforting nature of a similar minded individual, enjoying his jovial presence. Both Hassan and her have their vices, and it is because of that imperfect nature that she is drawn to his company. This, of course, fails to mention her intrigue for his ether abilities and his inability to properly influence his fellow inquisitors.

@The Angry Goat
A friend like Stina is always welcome to Tatiana’s company. Viewed by the priestess as the pinnacle of camaraderie, Stina is a close ally and friend in Tatiana’s eyes. Through his invictus attitude, Tatiana rallies with Stina, closely associating with him in battle in a sort of ‘You’ve got my back, I’ve got yours’ way. His welcoming attitude towards allies really brings joy to the priestess as she always seeks to bond with her fellow inquisitors, but the nationalistic ideals Stina harbors can tentatively bring an unnerved attitude to Tatiana when the two are together.

Roleplay Details

Tatiana is currently a character in The Last Embers.

The Visions: An Escapist Visionary's Personas

_{気械こー佳奈
きかいこーかな}

Kana

_{気械こー佳奈
きかいこーかな}

“In meditation, it is revealed that man and machine are aligned indefinitely.”

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Name:
Kikaiko Kana
_{気械こー佳奈
きかいこーかな}

Preferred Name:
Kana

Age:
23

Sex:
Female

Nationality:
Zainichi Korean

Languages Spoken:
Japanese
Korean
English

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Cybernetic Enhancements:

► Modified Demolition Arm Prosthesis | This cybernetic limb prosthetic started out as an industrial augmentation meant for construction workers to use in demolition and deconstruction of structures. It was heavily augmented by Kana after she received it, but it was all she could afford with the small inheritance granted to her after her accident. The limb has quite a bit of strength in it as it is meant for heavy strain. The most prominent feature of the Demolition Arm is its jackhammer action which can cause a massive pulse of force outwards from the fist. This is accomplished by an autoloading explosive shell that is housed in the wrist that goes off when punched outward to create a shocking amount of force.

► Modified Machinist’s Arm Prosthesis |
Grafted onto Kana while she was young and upgraded to better fit her over time, her Machinist’s Arm is a mark left on her from the late Kikaiko family. The prosthesis is extremely similar to the one used by her father, as it houses a number of mechanics’ tools run by simple motors to extend from the forearm and be used precisely on any machinist’s project. Common available tools include a number of drill bits, a wrench mechanism, and a small circular saw.

► Neurotop Remote Interface |
The Neurotop Remote Interface is a common neural implant that allows for the user to interface with compatible machines and the internet remotely. Kana bought herself the implant whilst working in the KikaikonoDojo to allow her to access information, complex diagrams, schematics, and instructions whilst going about her biomechanical undertakings.

► Autodoc Toolkit Implant |
This internal implant is housed in the back side of the wrist on Kana’s Machinist’s Arm. It is a simple implant that houses a number of simple surgeon’s tools meant to assist in triage and urgent medical care.

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Property:

► Ōsuzumebachi Flechette Machine Pistols^(大雀蜂)
Designed and manufactured almost exclusively for Tokyo’s more underground consumers, the Ōsuzumebachi Flechette Machine Pistols pack a noticeable and rapid-fire punch in the form of flechette projectiles rather than conventional bullets. This offers a lightweight, compact, and concealable model made almost entirely of plastic and ceramics. Each pistol is augmented with a laser sight. These two weapons are the only firearms that Kana owns— one having belonged to her father and the other to her mother.

► PsySys Prescription Technispecs
When it comes to impaired vision, PsySys Technispecs are one of the top products to combat such issues. These stylized glasses also act as screens that can offer the wearer a heads-up display with a small array of information about their surroundings. More quality models come with 2-3x zoom functions, thermal vision, and movement detection. In efforts to maintain a knack for style as much as they do functionality, PsySys allows for the glasses to tint to any number of specified colors. Kana’s set appear as a pair of circular spectacles that she rarely leaves home without.

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Appearance:
Kana is by no means an imposing figure to be feared. With such small stature, she doesn’t carry much of an intimidating appearance. Instead, quite the opposite may be true as she often may appear rather sickly and weak. Her slight form is contrasted only by the mechanical appearance of her cybernetic arms— both appearing as slick and dark gunmetal limbs. Her prostheses have a very industrialized aesthetic, built from other pieced together cyberware. Kana is clearly of Korean descent, opting to dye her natural hair a lighter platinum blonde. She keeps her hair very well so that her straightened locks fall just around her neck. Very rarely is Kana seen without wearing a pair of circular spectacles. She has a knack for urban fashion, opting to dress with flashy aesthetics that have an unaccounted for tendency to stand out in the rural Suribachi.

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Personality traits:

► Forlorn
► Wistful
► Withdrawn
► Pensive
► Perceptive
► Conscientious
► Dissonant

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Background:

Kana was born to a pair of Korean immigrants to Japan, settling in Suribachi. Their identities remain a mystery to her as she was told that she was orphaned at birth in a crime-related accident. Unfortunately for the young girl, no more information on her original progenitors was available to her anywhere she could look. She was, after all, unaware of her own last name. Kana was in particularly rough shape due to a rare form of minor muscular dystrophy in parts of her body. Lost without help in this world, Kana would have fallen victim to its cruel fate had she not been accepted and cared for as an orphan by a particularly benevolent pair of guardians.

When found and brought to the hospital in a state of near-death, Kana required the replacement of a number of muscle fibers with artificial counterparts. Kana was taken in by the Kikaiko family and cared for at the KikainoDojo, where her disability was dealt with via cybernetic augmentation of one of her arms. Her adoptive family ran this dojo as a refuge and support center for cybernetically augmented people struggling to survive for various reasons, operated between her ‘mother’, ‘father’, and another orphaned child of similar age to Kana named Tao that she soon grew to view as a brother.. The dojo acted something like a non-secular church for a struggling group in Suribachi, offering repairs, sustenance, and simple medical assistance to the many, though a number of outsiders likened the group more to a cult than a church. Either way, it created a tight-knit bond between its frequenters. As such, the caring family had no problem bringing the little girl into their dojo. With all of the work done to help others, the KikainoDojo required great monetary support. While the dojo received some donations and Kana’s mother worked as surgeon’s assistant at Suribachi General Hospital, they still didn’t have enough money to keep up with increasing demand of the dojo’s assistance. This led to the advent of the KikainoDojo Machine Shop built as an addition onto the dojo. In the machine shop, Kana’s adoptive father worked tirelessly on a number of odd mechanical jobs and repairs. Kana took to the Dojo’s principles quite quickly, and she soon became an apprentice to her guardians, offering as much help as a young child could.

Even in their ultimate efforts to keep the dojo afloat, the Kikaiko family was working against all odds. It wasn’t long into Kana’s life that the dojo had accrued a larger and larger debt that soon crippled the family. Having run out of options, Kana’s father resorted to taking out loans. What Kana was unaware of, however, was that he didn’t have the necessary assets to take out such great loans from banks and instead resorted to drawing funds from both the Yakuza and the Sycamore Family simultaneously. When Kana’s father finally reached the point where he could no longer stave off the wrath of the two families, the KikainoDojo was attacked in a drive-by. The place ended up riddled with holes, firebombed, and partially collapsed.

After the attack, Kana only remembers waking up in the hospital to learn that her remaining biological had been crushed and required amputation. With such an expensive medical procedure, Kana had no way to pay for it, but it was then that Kana received word that neither of her guardians had survived. With no other option, a small inheritance of her father’s hidden reserves was nearly entirely used up in Kana’s medical bills. Kana was entirely surprised by this revelation, choosing to accept only half of the treatment so that her brother could receive treatment for whatever wounds he might have taken in the disaster. It was then that it was revealed to the hospitalized girl that her brother was beyond saving and the doctors had proclaimed him unable to be saved, especially with the funds available. Tao himself opted to offer all of the inheritance to Kana so that one of them could live rather than having them both die.

Upon receiving her treatment, Kana made the impulsive decision to try and help Tao herself. That day, both Kana and Tao Kikaiko had disappeared from Suribachi General Hospital. At the shell of what once was the great KikainoDojo, Kana maintains herself in the broken machine shop while Tao remains lost in catatonia and barely kept alive by his sister’s biomechanical rigging. Kana has plans to resurrect the fallen dojo from its broken state, entirely unaware of any Yakuza or Sycamore grudges that may remain.

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Skills:

► Cyberneticist | Kana is well versed in the inner workings of cybernetics and mechanics of various machines. This stems from her time around her father at the KikaikonoDojo. She has the necessary skills to repair, maintenance, assemble, or disassemble mechanics she is familiar with.

► Biomechanist | Taking after her mother, Kana has an apprentice’s knowledge of how the body works, particularly in its interactions with machines. This allows her the skills necessary to manage basic medical procedures and maintenance of cybernetic augmentations on humans.

► The Way of the Machine | In the many teachings of the KikainoDojo, Kana learned how to fend for herself as an augmented human in Suribachi. One of the common practices around the dojo from day to day was the honing of what was called ‘The Way of the Machine’. This was a technical art taught by some of the dojo’s patrons meant to show its participants how to use their cybernetics to their advantage in combat. Lacking any actual training in any weapons, this knowledge of fighting with her own body offers Kana her greatest defense.

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Flaws:

► Debt To Inheritance | Due to the great debts accrued by the progenitors of the KikainoDojo, both Yakuza and Sycamore loan sharks never got the chance to collect on the business after it was destroyed. With Kana being the last connection to her dead parents, she has thusly inherited their debts, and may be considered an enemy of both of the major gangs in Suribachi.

► Debt To Metal | In her heavy reliance on cybernetics, Kana’s body finds it harder and harder to cope with its numerous mechanical augmentations. On a daily basis, Kana is faced with the conundrum of requiring medications to prevent the rejections of her augmentations and the immense pain of the slow process following. With expensive medications being so far out of her reach, Kana often must resort to procuring her fix through other means.

► Atrophy | While Kana has grown to overcome her disability from birth almost entirely, the lingering effects still remain as she augments her body more and more. Where Kana finds herself lacking any artificial muscle fiber or prostheses, she is a great deal weaker as her muscles have partially atrophied, thusly giving her reduced strength in those areas.

Roleplay Details

The Visions: An Escapist Visionary's Personas

The Forbidden Archivist

Name
Ishtar Astarte Resheph

Titles
Keeper of the Forbidden Archives, The Blighted Recordkeeper, The Cursed Doomsayer

Age
49

Race
Human (Wight)

Training
Ishtar has no official training, but she spent a great deal of time around other necromancers and cultists. Thusly, she has quite a bit of insight into their darker arts.

Equipment

🟒Carapace Gauntlets | Ishtar carries no weapons as she sparsely has the physical strength to wield one. When she finds herself unguarded in her human form, this custom-made pair of gauntlets she procured in her time working with a cult of undeath are the best she has. They appear as a number of interlocking steel plates connected to form a pair of gauntlets that sit far up onto her forearms. What may seem out of place is the fingertips of her gauntlets, as they are curved into razor-tipped claws. Ishtar opts for these over any other weapon because they are specially made not to shatter or fall off if she eschews her human form.

🟒Canopic Jar of Heart | Being the last of Ishtar’s canopic jars in her possession, she guards it with her life. Her jar of heart governs the free flowing of her circulatory system despite her heartless form. It is no more than a foot tall, and doesn’t provide too much trouble to carry around. The clay jar depicts an ornately adorned human starting to succumb to the bony form of an undead Lich.

🟒Stolen Page of Forbidden Lore | Ishtar has a lot more planned than she likes to give away. When told to fetch a book for the court wizard, she managed to carefully harvest a page from On the Nature of the Dead and the Risen, Volume IV: Liches, Wights, and other Immortals in the Darkness; By Lacerus Golgathya. Surprisingly, the nature of the page has nothing to do with Wights like herself...

Spell Skills

🟒Necrotic Ritualist | Ishtar is an adept purveyor of necromantic magics. These skills have been afforded to her through careful research of innumerable occult grimoires and ancient books. While most of her spell-like abilities revolve around vile rituals and complex feats of spellcasting, they most commonly manifest in two ways. The first of which is her ability to drain life from living entities. This lifedrinking manifests as tethers of dark energy stemming from her palms. This spell is how Ishtar sustains herself as a wight, but it also perpetuates her Curse of the Blighted. The second notable feat of necromancy revolves around suspended reanimation of dead entities. While Ishtar has found herself able to conjure up massive surges of lifeforce to drive into these creatures, her distance from her canopic jars and weakened form leave her abilities in a fledgling state. As it stands, Ishtar is almost entirely cut off from her reanimation abilities, leaving her only able to bring diminutive creatures such as insects alive for any prolonged periods of time.

🟒Doomsayer’s Dark Speech | Having so great a capacity for knowledge of the world’s Eldritch inner workings leaves the mind scarred in palpable ways. To perpetuate her research, Ishtar has deciphered the linguistics used by ancient necromancers and other vile dark artists known as Dark Speech. Dark Speech sounds guttural and inhuman in its syllabic incantations, and merely hearing the words seems to twist at the souls of all living creatures— inciting panic and violence as simple seeds in the back of the mind. While these effects appear as scarcely more than discomforting thoughts in humans, small minded beings such as insects and other vermin of the world often heed the words of Dark Speech as they are whispered into their heads. With her extensive knowledge of Dark Speech, Ishtar finds herself able to worm commands into and understand the communication of vermin creatures, though larger entities may choose to disobey. She often wields this power to command insectile creatures or other small pestilential animals at her will.

🟒Twisted Form | As Ishtar drifted further from humanity, her abilities as a Wight fluxed rapidly. Despite her concealed human appearance when fully energized, she has the ability to twist her body back into the aberrant form she finds herself trapped in. When morphing back into her wight form, Ishtar’s limbs elongate, her spine bends in its place, her face takes on a misshapen cast, and she moves with a cunning swiftness. While she may be particularly susceptible to physical strikes, wights are able to move with great agility and remain as excellent casters focusing mainly on voracious offense. Because Ishtar’s abilities are tied to her canopic jars, her twisted form is strongest when she is in close proximity to greater amounts of her canopic idols. While further away from her remaining jars, her abilities are inhibited to an even greater degree.

Other Skills

🟒Dark Lore Archivist | Due to her time in captivity aside innumerable undead cultists alongside her work as the Forbidden Archivist, Ishtar has amassed an astounding hold on knowledge of the world’s dark lore. Her knowledge of topics concerning the dark arts and other vile facets of life are nearly unmatched. When it comes to uncovering secrets or encountering devilish riddles, Ishtar is an exemplar of the art.

Weaknesses

🟒Doomdreamer’s Vile Lore | To maintain forbidden lore in the capacity and extent that Ishtar does takes a toll on the mind. With her brain so constantly immersed in the dark lore of the world, Ishtar is consequently plagued by vile nightmares almost every time she opts to rest. In sleep, Ishtar is constantly haunted by phantasms of her greatest fears. Because of this, her life is wrought with insomnia and and a certain incurable fatigue. Ishtar is almost never at her peak alertness or physical condition. The hallucinatory images that visit her in dreams only cause her mind to drift further from reality as the days pass.

🟒Withering Lifedrinker | Ishtar’s extended lifespan has come with as many banes as it has boons. Originally, Ishtar used her necromantic arts to artificially sustain herself from bodily atrophy caused by disease. Her fixes will always be temporary, however, and Ishtar is feeling the effects of such mortal flesh. Her body is weak, and it grows weaker with every day. Due to her extensive overuse of her arts, Ishtar’s body would be unable to sustain itself naturally without the support of her necromantic rituals. As such, necrosis and atrophy have to be combated in Ishtar’s daily life. Her body crumbles easier, her bones break with less force, and she becomes exhausted more quickly.

🟒Curse of the Blighted | The radiance of the vile nature emanating from Ishtar stems from her corrupt magic. She’s become so tainted by her arts that her very touch blights the world around her. Ishtar finds herself unable to touch living or ripe plant matter without it withering into a crumbling shell of life.

🟒Preternatural Inversion | Coinciding in part with her Curse of the Blighted, Ishtar finds her horrifying presence extending beyond plant life. She finds that most natural entities and the fauna of the world to be very perturbed by her presence. Animals almost always regard Ishtar with fear or hostility. She finds it very difficult to interact with commonly kept animals. On the converse side of things, this strange curse seems to work in another way. Vermin-like creatures such as parasites and pests seem to regard her with an eerie curiosity. She will often find herself constantly pestered by ominous swarms of insects.

🟒Witch’s Superstitions | As a byproduct of being raised around so many strange cultures involving the more darker arts of magic, Ishtar has picked up innumerable superstitions carried by the cultists around her. To the common man, it would seem that Ishtar just hinders herself with a number of inane taboos. In strange circumstances, Ishtar will often be found performing unnecessary rituals and rites to keep herself at peace.

🟒Canopic Imprisonment | Because of the nature of Ishtar’s tainted body and soul, her necrotic magic sustains her life through the Canopic Rite of Animation. This, while providing the benefit of sustaining life, also ties her sustained life to five canopic jars that carry her isolated and preserved organs: the jars of Lungs, Stomach, Liver, Intestines, and Heart— each carved to depict the shape of a different animal avatar. When one of these jars is smashed, Ishtar loses a great deal of her physical and magical abilities. Should all the jars be smashed, Ishtar’s body would stop working and she would crumble due to the rapid aging effects of her long but staved-off life.

Affiliation

🟒Exiled Fugitive in the Order of the Radiant Sun and its offshoots
🟒Blighted Recordkeeper of the Grand Kingdom of Kron Nesis

Personality
Despite her youthful appearance, Ishtar comes off as a shattered soul that has seen too much. There is malice in her gaze and contempt in every word she speaks. Despite this, she is by no means a violent soul. While standoffish, Ishtar combats her opponents first with her vast knowledge before ever resorting to lash out physically at an adversary. In such endeavors, Ishtar may come off as slightly arrogant and conceited. This doesn’t change her overarching mentality however, for deep inside Ishtar truly wishes to protect the world from the dark secrets she’s plagued her brain with. This leaves her with quite the loner mentality, but Ishtar is not opposed to working with others should she respect their intellect or abilities.

Even beyond that, there is still some noticeable softness to Ishtar’s heart no matter how deeply she buries it. This comes alive in the presence of some of her habits. When one enters her workspace, they would notice a number of plants dotted around, all of them wilted or dying due to her Curse of the Blighted. Nonetheless, Ishtar secretly wishes she could cultivate life as easily as she could before she chose to cultivate undeath. When it comes to the fauna of the forest that react to her with ominous rage, Ishtar still tries to befriend the animals around her. She’s taken to doing this through masking the scent of death on her person with a number of concocted perfumes, though none succeed in great degrees.

History
On a date long lost to history, a young girl was born in the fragmented Eamonvale to a stalwart warrior and his bride. They called her Inanna Astarte Resheph, but that was not a name she would bear for many more years. She grew up well taken care of by her two parents as they adhered strictly to religious dogmas of the distant temples of the Archclericy. Because of this, Inanna’s parents were rather strict in sheltering her during her upbringing. This caused the young girl to be very curious about the facets of the world from which she was kept. Perhaps things would have been vastly different for her had Inanna been able to maintain that happy family life, but as a swathe of pestilential vermin overtook the city and local fields, food grew sparse and the food that was available was often plagued with disease.

Inanna’s mother was among the first victims of the plague that struck across Eamonvale. To deal with death so young was not easy for the young girl, and her father’s warrior mentality did not do much to assist her. Inanna chose to shut herself away, severely disconnecting from the people around her. As much as she wanted to stay locked away in her room, though, Inanna found her solitude maddening. When her father was so often lost in his own work, Inanna often took to the village’s library where she could bury herself in books. It was at this local library where she befriended a librarian who would notice her plight and offer suggestions for books of fantastic tales. It was one particular genre that Inanna found herself drawn to as she sifted through massive catalogues: stories of battling lords of undeath.

It wasn’t as much the heroes of her stories that captivated Inanna’s interest as much as the cultists of the undead. Her nascent mind was mesmerized by the concept of escaping death. Inanna could only imagine what she could have done to save her mother if she had the power of her profane role models. That wishful thinking morphed into something much more profound and urgent when Inanna found that she had caught an atrophying plague herself. She poured herself into her studies, seeking out only books that could clue her in further on the secrets of necromancy. Things came to a head when Inanna began to piece together a simple necromantic concept called lifedrinking, which acts as a form of staving off death and necrosis by consuming the life force of other prepared through various means. The implications of such a dangerous tradition were entirely lost on Inanna in her pursuit to escape the fate of her mother.

This first casting of necromantic magic was infantile, but it succeeded nonetheless due to Inanna’s careful research and vastly expansive amount of sourcebooks. To feed herself in such a spell, Inanna was required to drain lifeforce from a living animal. This task was easy enough with a few grazing fields in close proximity to her residence in Eamonvale, and for the next few weeks, Inanna managed to combat her atrophying body’s symptoms. Such careless spellcasting didn’t go without notice much longer than that, however. For it wasn’t only Inanna that whispered of dark arts in Eamonvale’s night air.

The night appeared quiet, but Eamonvale was anything but as a procession of sickened cultists in their twisted forms paraded through the streets. Most citizens locked themselves away in the homes, and that seemed to do the trick. Any guardsmen that went out to face them met the same fate as his brothers that went before. The cultists were not there to take over the town or raze it to the ground, though. They toiled up to only a number of houses, calmly forcing their ways inside and taking a small number of inhabitants as slaves. All of the captured townspeople had one thing in common: they were vile figures known only as evil among the populace. Inanna may have thought she was safe locked away with her father, but as the procession smashed the door open, she saw visions of doom for the first time. It was revealed that a number of Eamonvale residents had given a list of vile people to the cultists as a form of tribute as to allow the good people to survive. What Inanna soon learned was that she had made the list. The librarian she had so often found helpful had been clued in to the dark musings of the young girl. Inanna sought to fight back with her father at her side, but as she was clasped in the bony hands of her captors, her father looked to her only with a longing gaze of despair. He now knew of her toilings and he had no intention of forgiving her.

With no hope left, Inanna is taken towards the center of Telduria to a camp on a desolate stretch of land somewhere between the Coven of Barrows and Morazuin. Hidden away was an encampment of cultists subordinate to the liches of the Coven of Barrows, many of whom were undead themselves. It was there that Inanna had in spirit died, born again under the name Ishtar in servitude to the worshippers of undeath. While a number of her duties were more physical in nature, Ishtar was by no means strong enough to accomplish much. It wasn’t long before she found herself lucky enough to act as a keeper of all the stolen books coveted by the cult. In her work, she spent hours sorting through them and maintaining the upkeep of the makeshift library as her superiors scoured the texts in hopes of finding relevant ancient knowledge to further practice their art. It was at this post that Ishtar was first really acquainted with the breadth of everything necromancy had to offer.

Finally realizing the power of the knowledge at her fingertips, Ishtar felt a duty to protect the secrets that ‘her’ library acquired in hopes that she could bring what she had learned back to the Archclericy should she ever be able to escape and flee to the temples— a wishful hope that she never gave up on in her time at the cultist escarpment. Her good-natured motivations did, however, dwindle over the years as Ishtar opted to start using the necromantic arts she studied freely to give her the necessary abilities to endure the years of servitude.

Ishtar spent innumerable years at the escarpment, aging very little in her time there due to her growing necromantic prowess. As she originally expected, an inevitable surge of troops in allegiance to the Order of the Radiant Sun tore through the encampment like gale force winds. In this instance, Ishtar felt a fear she hadn’t felt since her time in Eamonvale. In a decisive moment of deception, Ishtar surrendered herself to the Order acting as if she had been an innocent captive the whole time she was there. It was this bluff that allowed her to be rescued and taken back to Valon. With her manipulative wit, Ishtar offered that since she had been in such close proximity to the vile arts entombed in the forbidden grimoires of the cult that she could assist the Order of the Radiant Sun in protecting further minds from being tainted by such knowledge by acting as a keeper of their Forbidden Archives. Although things didn’t start so glamorously, it wasn’t more than a handful of years before Ishtar went from a simple recordkeeper to the title of Forbidden Archivist. In her cunning trickery, she had found herself just the position she needed to propagate her studies to an extreme degree. She was exactly where she wanted to be: protecting and studying the eldritch knowledge hidden in ancient books of dark lore.

Things weren’t all so perfect in Ishtar’s life, though. She had become so reliant on her vile magics to keep herself upright, that her own upkeep had become more and more difficult to hide from her superiors in the order. Her body deteriorated in greater degrees as she began to look more like the twisted undead she had once forsaken. In a cowardly effort to maintain her position as Forbidden Archivist, Ishtar locked herself away in the archives, forbidding entry to most, and even then visitors were only accepted on sparse occasions due to a number of off-the-cuff excuses. Her body was failing and atrophying away, and she knew only one way to stave off the inevitable. Ishtar chose to seek out a powerful ritual called the Canopic Rite of Animation— a decision that she would never be able to reverse. Throwing caution to the wind, Ishtar locked herself in the archives, viscerally extracting a number of her organs and preserving them magically in enchanted canopic jars. Doing so allowed her body to function as though the organs were present as long as she sustained herself on lifeforce drained from living beings. These canopic jars had to be kept whole, for if they were broken, her body would slowly fail. While most of her jars were kept scattered about and hidden in the Forbidden Archives, she always kept her Jar of Heart in close proximity.

It was at this point that Ishtar became acutely aware that she was becoming something less than human. Necromantic lore according to the Canopic Rite of Animation would have referred to her as a ‘Wight’: a creature tainted so greatly by vile magic that she now almost fully sustained herself on her dark arts. Her body, when not sufficiently energized via necromantic draining, would warp beyond human recognition, echoing a twisted reflection of what she once was. Her limbs would elongate unevenly, her spine would stoop and bend, and she would move as a monster bounding about in agile voracity. Realizing what she had done, Ishtar gave herself the ultimatum that the dark lore she surrounded herself with had to be protected at all costs lest others find themselves in her position. She gave notice that the Forbidden Archives would remain sealed for a number of years, but suspicions in other administrative portions of the Order grew far to great to disregard Ishtar’s actions.

In an act of complete subordination, a paladin of the Order disregarded the orders of his superiors and raided the archives to press Ishtar for answers. The confrontation that followed did not end well for either party. As the paladin stumbled from the archives having been wounded a number of times, he charged down the temple’s corridors for help. In his battle, he did manage to shatter one of Ishtar’s canopic jars, thusly wounding her greatly when he uncovered her secrets. Ishtar knew she had to flee.

When the paladin returned to the archives with reinforcements, it was discovered that the doors to the archives were sealed behind a massive tumorous gate of flesh and pestilence, growing back as the Order’s men slashed at it as if fighting to protect the archives. This was the result of a massive ritual spell prepared by Ishtar in a last resort to protect her canopic jars and the lore of the archives. After the completion of such a powerful necrotic ritual, Ishtar knew she was drained and had no chance to fight back against the whole of the Order of the Radiant Sun. She fled the Archclericy altogether heading for The Grand Kingdom of Kron Nesis to disguise herself as a simple human mage. She found herself offering to work for the court wizard, hoping to one day strategize to retake the archives before the seal is broken and her canopic jars are shattered. As selfish as her motivations may have seemed, the twisted creature recognized in her final moments in the archives the dangers in her art. Now seeking to protect others from its vile grip, she finds herself consumed with the perpetual protection of ancient secrets from the populace, though her laymen’s position doesn’t offer much as it stands. In the end, Ishtar is simply grateful she was able to cut deals with the court mage in Kron-Nesis. Her particular knowledge had value to him, but Ishtar is kept under a close watch as the court mage did well to detect her true nature despite her facade.

Roleplay Details

The Deadly 8: Case Corvin

A bit of an old sheet, but I liked my character from before.

The Sinner

Name: Abigail “Abbey” Jones

Age: 18

Date Of Death: July 25th, 1994

Appearance:

Appearance

Height: 120 lbs

Weight: 5’3”

Method of Death: Burned to death

Bio: Abbey found herself raised rather easily. As an only child, she lived just on the edge of rural and suburban parts of Wyoming. Brought up as the daughter to a pastor, Abbey lived her life out within the church of her father. She was extremely sheltered throughout her life there. Schoolwork and housework were topping the charts of her main activities, but Abbey didn’t know any other style of life, so she rarely complained. Religion was obviously a very important part of her family’s lifestyle. This led to Abbey herself, being very cultivated by the Christian ideology. Abbey’s father was the most prominent figure in raising her. He ruled strictly, but with a soft hand. He preached great morals of saving your fellow man despite your differences. This principles led his daughter’s life. She was forgiving and friendly to all above all else.

This quaint and quiet life lasted until Abbey hit the age of seventeen. The normality of her life was interrupted by a spree of crime rampant throughout her hometown revolving around a large group of protesters against the hypocrisy of the current government officials. Heavy police forces were brought in in order to satiate the unrest, but this only led to more chaos in the streets. Abbey and her family were careful not to be caught up in such matters, but when a ragged young man clad in black clothing came to the church asking for sanctuary, Abbey’s father immediately took him in. Careful to keep Abbey away from him, her father fed and housed the man throughout the chaotic night, but it is well known that keeping a teenager from her curiosity is a difficult task. Abbey and the boy eventually met and started to grow close over the next few days. Coming from two extremely opposing lifestyles, they found curiosity and solace in each other, but the peace within the church did not last the few days. Less than a week after taking the man in, Abbey’s father discovered that he was a prominent criminal in the protests and had committed a great deal of crimes.

In attempts to remove the sinful man from his church, Abbey’s father reached out to the police, but his daughter was not quite ready to give in to the authorities she had recently heard so much about from her new companion. She hid him within the church as long as she could, but the officers grew impatient, promptly deciding to disregard the moral issues of raiding a church. In the rampant confusion, Abbey once more tried to protect her friend by assisting him in fleeing. With police now seeming to turn on her, the two ended up fleeing together. With her newfound friend, Abbey had to leave her home. Thinking she would only be gone for a few days, she soon discovered that her actions were irrevocable and classed her in with a fugitive. Abbey took to living with her new friend, and she found herself living a completely different life with what might be considered a terrorist group of insurgents. She was trained to become like them, though she never gave up her principles. Despite her new outcast nature, Abbey upheld and taught morality to those she found herself in company of.

She found herself living the life of an insurgent for nearly a year after that day, but her longing for home couldn’t be held in forever. She had to return home, and was presented with a brilliant opportunity as her cell was moving right near her hometown. Against the wishes of her friend and new family, Abbey returned to the church, her friend accompanying her for protective purposes. Upon arrival, the warm greeting that Abbey was expecting was revealed to be a near opposite of what occurred. Her father intended to hold her and turn her in to pay for her sins. A struggle turned into a fight, and the police were notified and on their way not long after her arrival. What was a mere family fight turned into a hostage situation as Abbey and her friend won the struggle and were now trapped. With police surrounding them, a negotiator was sent in, and this particular man happened to be a prominent enemy of Abbey’s organization. With her cell having heard of the action, they took the opportunity to set the church ablaze, opting to sacrifice two of their members to take out the powerful police figure. Unfortunately, the police were not prepared for such an event. As firemen sifted through the ashes of the church they discovered all four bodies. There were no survivors...

Greatest Love: Excitement

Greatest Fear: Betrayal

Stunning Weapon: Taurus Judge Pistol

Sealing Weapon: Ice Axe

Sᴛᴇʀʟɪɴɢ Hᴇɪɢʜᴛs Sᴇᴄʀᴇᴛs

”Good to see you guys,” Alice offered with a smile on her face. It was really all she managed before Ron and Ara both got back to conversing amongst themselves. Alice dared let her eyes linger on the pair for a moment more before she made her way towards the basement of Ron’s house. Their demeanor, their gestures, their words, Alice was all too familiar with people acting in such a way. It was almost like a facade, but it was also not her business. With a swift aversion of her gaze, the quiet girl dared not intervene with her friends. She knew them better than that, and she knew her own capabilities.

Upon entering into the more occupied basement, Alice momentarily surveyed the room. It was only when she met eyes with Bernie that her friend spoke up. After a moment, she had discovered Alice’s costume’s intent. In response, Alice offered a bit of a flourishing curtsy in acknowledgement of Bernie’s comment. ”And you, a perfect representation of the night. You look good, Bernie.” Alice would have left it there, but she could only have imagined Bernie’s trek to Ron’s house. ”I don’t know how you managed to make it here like that, though.”

With that, Alice remembered her own method of staving off the October winds, and unslung her satchel from her shoulder. Her eyes drifted around the room, looking for a place to set her bag and jacket. Her gaze was soon set upon Augie in his conglomerated attire that certainly caught the eye. What particularly drew her in the was reddened guise of his eyes. Had he been crying or something? Alice would never discern that, nor would she press it. It was his words that managed to drag Alice’s gaze from the offputting attire onto Rob, where she only found herself more shocked, stifling a short chuckle. ”You’ve both done great this year… On opposite sides of the whole scary versus cute aspect at least.”

One more voice chimed in as Alice felt she was essentially on the runway, her costume getting all the initial judgements as she entered the party. This time it was Isaac, offering a vague reference to the very story Alice’s idea emerged from. She quirked her eyebrows in response, offering Isaac a pleasant smile. ”More than one holiday all at once, it seems.” After she spoke, Alice spent a moment looking Isaac up and down. When her brain finally seemed to click, it was evident on her facial expression. Alice was wholly surprised to see Isaac of all people in the attire. She laughed a bit before speaking up once again. ”Ready to rumble even when relaxing. You’re a perfect lookalike. I’m sure you could get hired for one of those crazy WWF matches. Alice paused in her speech, nodding her head a few times to show her recognition of Isaac’s stellar effort.

As Isaac sat on the floor, Alice took the perfect opportunity to grab her own seat upon the couch at his side. She set her bag next to her on the couch’s end, rather protective of the satchel at her side. It seemed she evaded the room’s main floor space just as Rob took to the microphone. How perfect her timing had come as well. Without any attention on her, Alice was content just to sit and observe her closest friends, not requiring sustenance or any sort of drink just yet at least. With a cross of her legs, Alice watched fully engaged as she expected nothing less of Rob— rocking his lyrics perfectly in the exact style one would have expected of him. Of course, his outfit only made the whole spectacle even greater. Upon his crescendo at the end, Alice dared to be the first to lightly applaud his show.

The Last Embers (Dark Steampunk/Fantasy)

Eyes... There were eyes all around her. On her? She was unsure. The only thing she could discern was that each gaze of the hundreds of beholders she passed in the streets bore into her. Was she being watched? Were all eyes on her? Or was it all in her imagination..?

Tatiana shivered, pulling her inquisitor's coat around her body. Even in the confines of the T'saraen aegis, she was still cold. That was how she always was. Varya, Lanostre, and now here. She hated the cold, but she could never escape it in the tundra landscape that scoured the world. At least the endless sea of white was now out of her sight and thusly out of her mind. She tried to focus on the T'saraen landscape. The world around her seemed so right with her. Tatiana always knew she was more T'saraen than Lanostran, and in that moment, it felt like she was as far from Lanostran as anyone could ever be. Of course, even in her subtle feelings of calm, Tatiana didn't feel at home any more in Cero than she did in Sapharan City. Rather, she felt quite the opposite. The summoner, as much as she felt she was in the Seminary, in her home, and among her fellow inquisitors, was an alien.

Despite her extremely fatigued demeanor, Tatiana felt like she was on high alert. Her bloodshot gaze flicked back and forth as she took swift steps down the street. It couldn't have been that everyone was looking at her, could it? She was an inquisitor, so that much might have drawn attention, but there had to be something more to it. Tatiana tried to convince herself that the paranoia was all in her mind. No one was after her. She had left Lanostre, but the events that had transpired had stuck with her and she couldn't imagine the clerics had so easily forgotten either. Of course, that couldn't account for every off glance she received. Looking down, Tatiana finally noticed the faded red stains that had still bled into her coat's fabric. She had very little time to collect herself in between Lanostre and Cero. Self-consciously, Tatiana pulled her coat more tightly onto her form as if she could hide her disheveled appearance. It was something that would have to be dealt with. Tatiana knew that, but getting herself back together was a long process and washing clothes wasn't the first thing on the list.

Now was the time for more basic recuperating. Tatiana hadn't eaten anything during her whole transit. Too many thoughts had distracted her, and the crippling fatigue was finally starting to overcome her. She could have sworn a hazy blur was overcoming her failing eyes. Any time she second-guessed her vision, though, she merely shook her head to further maintain her wakefulness. What else could she do? It certainly didn't make her feel any safer, but Tatiana knew she couldn't let paranoid thoughts dictate her actions. The back of her mind was still hanging on to the events on Polarpike bridge. There were some things that she just couldn't let go of. She hoped that a good meal and perhaps a night's rest would help alleviate that. Of course, she hadn't really known where to start in those tasks. The entire city of Cero was a mystery to her. Its labyrinthine streets, while entirely a spectacle, were confusing to the foreigner. It must have shown.

"Looking for anything in particular, miss?" Tatiana's eyes shot towards the T'saraen man that had paused in his stride, offhandedly speaking toward her. For a moment, she just stared him down. The man was as nonthreatening as they came, but Tatiana was thrown off regardless. He saw something in his appearance... Something too similar for comfort.

"Why do you ask?" was all Tatiana managed in reply, holding back the full wrath of her accusatory tone. It wasn't panic in her eyes, no. More like some sort of subtle alert. Thoughts jumped through the inquisitor's head like lightning. What did he want? Why did he approach? Did he recognize her? The mystery character chuckled in response.

"You just look a bit lost, inquisitor," His eyes studied Tatiana's form. "And you don't look to be in the best shape..." The T'saraen man nodded in Tatiana's direction while his eyes drooped unto her coat. Tatiana reflexively covered herself even further, trying to conceal the stains on her clothing. She was surprised if anything. Had the man not feared her for her appearance? In a moment of weakness in her often steely resolve, Tatiana gave into the kindness of the stranger.

"Just... Seeking a nice place to find a meal and some peace and quiet. Business and the like. I'm sure you'd understand." Tatiana spoke with a hidden hostility in her tone. The moment she noticed her own voice, however, that changed.

"Waste less time, inquisitor... My brother's a proprietor of a restaurant only a block or so away. The best meal you'll have on this side of Cero, if you'll excuse my bias." As he finished, the mystery man was left staring at the pondering Tatiana. She wished she'd dare refuse, but having the sort of day that starts with a prison break doesn't put one in the sharpest of moods. It wasn't a moment longer before Tatiana conceded, following her newfound friend down the road with a sense of direction and purpose in his step. It wasn't a long journey, but it was long enough for Tatiana to get the name of her citizen escort: "Malek", or at least that was all he offered her. Food was brought out to the pair before they could have much in the way of conversation, and much to Tatiana's surprise, was on the house for Malek's inquisitor friend.

Service was beyond expedient. Tatiana would have been wholly impressed had she the mind to think about such mundane topics. She was still somewhere between a sleepless dream-state and her adrenaline-fueled combat mode. Every so often, Malek would attempt to make small talk with the frazzled inquisitor, though the replies he received were mostly short-lived and uninformative. Perhaps he was remaining purposefully brief in his questions considering Tatiana's flighty demeanor. She had been glancing about the establishment, taking in its sights for the entirety of the conversation. Particularly, Tatiana was keen on observing the cook, who was visible rather clearly behind the restaurant's counter. She couldn't help but be put-off by the burly man. Every glance Tatiana covertly took over her shoulder, it always seemed like his pallid face was looking back at her just as inquisitively. Could it have just been that she was an inquisitor? Tatiana certainly didn't get the warmest welcomes everywhere she went. Not to mention she and Malek were two of the very few patrons at the moment. Only a moment later, he then made eye contact with Malek. Perhaps it wasn't just her. Tatiana took a breath. She had to relax.

"I apologize, dear friend, but I don't believe I got your name," Malek lowered his head he spoke as though gesturing apologetically. Tatiana poised a surprised look onto her face. All this time, she hadn't even offered her name to the man. It wasn't at all his fault. Finally, Tatiana seemed to recognize her rudeness, dropping her guard if only for a moment.

"Mother Tatiana Leviatan. A pleasure, Malek." As Tatiana finished, Malek extended a hand over the table, and Tatiana went to grasp it in a shake. There was a moment of silence as the two did so. Tatiana's eyes were locked on the back of Malek's hand, upon which a strange tattoo was inked. Tatiana squinted a bit. The design seemed uniquely familiar to the girl's eyes, but her attention was quickly diverted as the cook from behind the counter reached a pale hand across the table to place down plates before Tatiana and Malek. And there it was again... Upon the forearm of the cook, a similar tribal line-work design that formed some sort of Eldritch symbol. Tatiana recognized it this time, and immediately, all her inhibitions left her. Ether flared through her body as she focused her pool to coarse like lightning through her veins.

All of a sudden, Tatiana was eternal grateful for her paranoia, for had she not immediately started focusing her withered ether pool, she may not have noticed the next move of 'Malek'. Everything seemed to slow as Tatiana's reaction time was augmented by the magic in her bloodstream. Malek tightened his grip on Tatiana's hand and her eyes shot back to the mark of the R'heon emblazoned on his skin. In that diminutive moment, Tatiana caught but a glimpse of his offhand, drawing up the knife from his table setting and slashing it towards her arm. Under normal circumstances, Tatiana would never had noticed it in time, but now, adrenaline activating every twitch fiber of muscle, she was ready. Without even a moment to think, Tatiana's free hand shot up to grasp Malek's hand in the air. She was sent straight into combat mode, leaving her entirely unaware that the knife nicked her palm, scarring it with a long red gash.

Simultaneously, the inquisitor exerted her dominant martial knowledge with both hands. Locked in Malek's grasp, Tatiana's fingers spread wide and shunted back from the handshake to break the grip while her offhand guided the knife directly downwards to meet its mark skewering the R'heon tattoo. Malek's pained scream reverberated on the establishment's walls sending any other patrons fleeing from the restaurant altogether. Of course, there was one man that had no intent of leaving his fellow R'heon. In the heat of combat, Tatiana had entirely forgotten the 'cook' until he had his muscular arm wrapping and constricting her throat. Before she knew it, she was pull from her seated position in his guillotine grasp. Tatiana knew she had a limited amount of time before the air was choked from her lungs, but she was no match for the man's strength. This was exactly why she learned the underhanded tactics of close-combat at the seminary.

The inquisitor's hand shot towards the pistol holstered at her waist. In the haze of her disoriented state, however, she was for once too slow. The R'heon's hand knocked the holster clean off of her belt with one mauling swipe. New plan. In her struggling for breath, Tatiana caught visions of her previous combats flashing before her eyes. She was always protected by her demon. All throughout her life, she had relied on the eldritch entities. Was that a bad thing? Was she not self sufficient? Obviously the Terviclops couldn't help her now... Or could it? Again, her body moved automatically. Tatiana felt her hand clench around the severed horn of the Terviclops belted at her waist. The brute hadn't even noticed. He already had her beat, vision fading, limbs drooping, but Tatiana knew better than to give in. In a final strike, she threw all the force left in her body into her arm as it slammed backwards to impale her weapon into the gut of her assailant.

Another spray of red colored her inquisitor's jacket. The man's grip released. Tatiana collapsed to her knees, gasping for air. She thought it was over; she thought she could pause momentarily, but Malek dared to rise and stand against her, blood pooling onto the floor from his mutilated tattoo. He moved swiftly at first, but Tatiana was quicker. Just as he came to stand above her, in between the inquisitor and her only exit, Tatiana's hand gripped the fallen pistol and ripped it up through the air only to stop when its barrel was set upon her assailant's skull. Her finger ached on the trigger. Malek froze, panic in his eyes. Tatiana rose to her feet. The cook had stopped his assault as well now that she had brandished her weapon freely. For a long moment, Malek and Tatiana stared into one another's eyes. Was she going to do it? Even Tatiana herself was unsure.

Until finally her thoughts broke her from her battle trance. No... Not again. She wasn't a murderer... Tatiana's gaze softened as the adrenaline began to crash from her body. It was only then that she seemed to notice the wound on her own hand, marked by the knife. The blood dripped from her skin and covered the stock of her firearm. Tatiana clenched her teeth. She had no questions for the men. She knew why they came, but she didn't want to kill them and dealing with an official report was completely disregarded in Tatiana's mind. That much was true, but she felt retribution boil up in her blood. Without any words, Tatiana dropped her weapon's aim low, firing a shot right into the hip of the man called Malek. Tatiana coldly gazed upon the wound as it exploded with a swathe of blood, painting the exit behind her target. The minute movements of the cook caused the inquisitor to spin on a dime, readying her weapon aimed at him. He immediately stepped back raising a hand.

Wordlessly, Tatiana stepped over the groaning man to the door. For a moment, she paused, raising a hand up to wipe the splatter of blood clear of the glass that separated her from the streets of Cero. In the reflection of the pane, Tatiana was met with a strange set of eyes staring back at her. There was... something wrong with the reflection. It was like it wasn't hers. There was just something in the eyes— something she couldn't name. She quickly pushed open the door, relieving herself of the image now wired into her brain. As she stepped back onto the road, she holstered her weapon. All of a sudden the fatigue from earlier had left her completely. All it took was the heat of battle to clear her head. That thought worried Tatiana, but she was too occupied with greater worries to ponder it.

The road offered her the perfect place to lose herself in her thoughts. Tatiana wanted to keep alert. What if another attack came? Unfortunately, the lethargy began to take hold, leaving her drifting into state of daydreaming. And who were they anyways? Only two logical answers came to Tatiana. The Clerics could have sent clandestine hunters already— or maybe they had T'saraen agents. It would be hard to ever prove. Other than that, and equally as likely, the pair could have been relatives of... victims. Tatiana pushed the thoughts from her mind. No matter their relation to her, she wouldnt let them get to her. The inquisitor found solace in her strength, and she recognized her own talent. How long could she save herself, though..?

When she finally reached her Salvation— the Karamzina— Tatiana felt strangely absent. The entirely walk there was a blank space in her memory. Nonetheless, her hope was that the worries would melt away when she arrived, but she was wrong. Tatiana felt safe, yes, but the plague in her mind only further distilled. As she boarded the ship, Tatiana was greeted by one of the crewmen. A handshake was offered, but he quickly pulled back upon looking at Tatiana's hand. The man grimaced.

"You should really get that checked out, inquisitor. May I ask what happened?" The question itself was harmless, but Tatiana stumbled over her words in responding nonetheless:

"Oh... Just an accident in the field." Before Tatiana could get any more caught up in her own cryptic response, she began walking onward into the massive ship. It was a marvel the likes of which Tatiana had not expected to be possible. Walking through its cramped passages sent shivers through her spine. She was inside the intestines of the steel beast. This was humanity. Just like she sought out the eldritch pieces of nature's reality, they sought to augment it with machines. Their beasts were steel, motor oil, gears. Tatiana was different, though. She was vilified, strange, taboo— a priestess of flesh, blood, and viscera... Was it wrong to favor the twisted reality over the fabricated reality?

Tatiana pushed the strange visions of abstract musings from her head, directing herself deeper into the bowels of the beast. Following the signs, it wasn't long before she came to her own designated quarters. The pain eating away at her limb was entirely disregarded. Tatiana didn't seek healing— just solitude; just peace. Alas, the unattainability of her goal was what made it so sought after. Upon immediate entry, Tatiana didn't even inspect the claustrophobic space. Her eyes were instead drawn directly onto a letter prominently placed upon her desk. It held her name just above its folds and carried a seal that Tatiana was very familiar with: that of her teacher, her mentor, Indira.

Just what Tatiana needed... Omens... Indira's words spoke of more dangerous toilings of Warband Phoenix's head instructor. Creid had always been a man of interest to Tatiana, but at the same time, she recognized the fathomless power. She never doubted him. One might go as far to say that fear was involved in their relationship as well as spite. Tatiana was fighter, and Creid was as well, but he never lost. A part of Tatiana wanted to be uplifted at his predicament, but the situation was too dire. Omens... Omens of lives being lost en masse. Omens of inquisitor's perishing without consequence or battle. Omens of the Phoenix Warband following in their stead. Tatiana set the letter down, stepping away from the desk. She found herself staring into a mirror that was mounted on the room's wall while she gave into her own thoughts. Why? Why was Indira telling her this? What was Tatiana meant to do? She was a fighter, but to prevent the death of her entire warband from a threat that was wholly undefined was a momentous task. Tatiana did know one thing, however. Indira rarely clued her in on the goings-on of the inquisition without belief in the young summoner. But why? Tatiana was left wondering that very same question as she stared into the eyes of the woman glaring back at her in the mirror. What was it about those eyes? Something was off— something Tatiana just couldn't put her finger on.

Tatiana was once again dragged from her thoughts when a strange drip assaulted her shoe. Another splatter of red. The knife wound carved through her palm was more gruesome than she originally thought. Flexing her hand, Tatiana grimaced in pain. With a determinant step, the inquisitor stepped hurriedly back out of her quarters, following the maze-like halls of the massive ship in an aimless pattern. Tatiana weaved back and forth in the labyrinth. Her intent was to find its medical bay, but as time ticked on, that was looking like more and more of a momentous task. In a moment of rage bubbling up in the inquisitor, her fist smashed itself into the steel wall that entombed her on all sides. It was wholly a harmless gesture, but it did draw the attention of a nearby mechanic, peaking in from a large chamber that appeared to be a bay for workshopping the ship's machinery. He offered a few words of concern before Tatiana waved him off, but her interest was then piqued.

Stepping into the mechanical room, Tatiana found that a number of mechanical crewmen were at work on various tasks that she could do little to comprehend. As Tatiana's presence became clear, it seemed that her disheveled and blood-ridden appearance only made the mechanics work harder, averting their eyes from the inquisitor. She surveyed the scene, particularly taking time to observe the tools strewn about the floor. Her eyes rested for a long while on a heavy duty staple gun seemingly made for holding together various plates of steel. Tatiana rested against the wall for a moment as she watched its use in the hands of the trained mechanists. Once it was set down, however, she clandestinely grabbed it up then leaving the room with haste. She didn't imagine she'd need it for more than a moment as the idea formulating in her head was but a nascent concept.

As Tatiana found herself a safe distance from the machine room, she took the industrial tool up, placing it at the laceration across her palm. Blood still oozed from the drying wound, even more so as Tatiana squeezed her hand to force her skin back together. Without much thought, the inquisitor pressed down on the trigger of the tool. As she felt the steel staple impale her skin, she immediately dropped the device, groaning in pain. With watery eyes, Tatiana brought her hgand up to her view, defeated. Seemingly her makeshift treatment had succeeded, albeit leaving her with shaky breathing. As her wound was sealed, she rested against the steel hallway wall. She knew she had to go back to her room. She had to look at the letter. She had to discern what her plan of action would be, but not now. No. Tatiana knew what she had to do, but found herself moving the opposite way nonetheless. A new idea had come into her mind— one that was urgent if only in her twisted view of the world. Her first stop was the mechanical room once again. Tatiana found herself grabbing a number of the unoccupied tools that would suit her needs. She gathered as much as she could carry before hurrying off. Intention drove her onward in the lethargy.

Another bout of wandering took place, and this time, Tatiana didn't stop until she found herself curiously entering one of the Karamzina's top floor rooms. Tatiana was mesmerized by the sight of scattered papers atop desks in the room. It appeared to be some sort of research room that served a purpose the the summoner would never discover. When she noticed the stains of red rusting the ship's metallic interior in one of the corners, however, she knew this massive chamber would suit her needs. The door was locked from the inside. Tatiana dropped her lot of industrial tools save for one rather heavy duty rivet gun. Meanwhile her other hand began to pool with black smoke. Tatiana could feel her limbs burning, her eyes struggling to stay open, and her legs ready to give out beneath her. Nonetheless she pressed on, and as the clouds of smog began to amass, a loud crash shook the hull around her. The Terviclops stumbled into the wall as it was summoned into the enclosed space.

Tatiana's partner was in grave condition. Immediately black blood and viscera splattered to the floor as it shed from the demon's broken body. Pain evoked itself in Tatiana's heart just at the sight of her fallen comrade, and the thought of what was to come next only further tightened her chest. Of course, at the same time, she found a strange sense of enticing curiosity tingling in her brain. Was it excitement? She dared not admit to it. A single word echoed from her mouth: "Kneel," and the Terviclops followed command, splaying its broken body torn open with exposed bone fragments against the wall. Tatiana brought the rivet gun up to her aim as she surveyed the wounds of the fell creature. Then, her work began.

Her inquisitor's jacket was nearly indiscernible from its original black shade now. In her observation of the mechanics, Tatiana had come to a number of realizations. Humanity did with its base metal elements marvelous things that would in turn empower them beyond belief. They smithed mighty guns, monolithic walls, and titanic steam ships. Humanity augmented its reality with machines, but none had ever dared augment the twisted life of nature's own creations. No one had smithed flesh on such a grand scale. Tatiana knew that she and the Terviclops wouldn't be enough to defend their entire warband. No, they would die trying... But what if she could create something more?

As the summoner stared into the pained gaze of her subject, something snapped inside her. A barrier had disappeared. A realization had come. That look in her eyes— she finally recognized it. She saw it here, in that vile room, right in the eyes of the demon before her. She saw the same look that had graced her in so many mirrors, and she had seen it in the crushing gazes of passers by. She saw it everywhere. Tatiana finally recognized what she saw in the eyes— what had put her off for so long. It was an omen, of sorts... For her warband, for the world, for herself... She'd never know, really, but she recognized that omen nonetheless. For within the demon's eyes, Tatiana saw Doom.

Deadly 8 (Ghost hunting adventure inspired by Killer 7 & Silent Hill)

I really liked this concept the first time around. Glad to see you're trying again. I'll participate.

Sᴛᴇʀʟɪɴɢ Hᴇɪɢʜᴛs Sᴇᴄʀᴇᴛs

_{As Alice}

Her breathing was heavy, carrying a rasp to it as she bolted down the dark street. One might have noticed her reddened face, glistening ever so slightly with sweat had she not been wholly obscured by the jet black hoodie covering her head and the scarf tightly wrapped around her neck. Every time she went out, she knew the clothing choice was a mistake. Was it a fashion statement or purely functional? She'd have to settle on a happy medium...

The bounding of Alice's shoes impacting the sidewalk was loud enough to wake backyard dogs into a barking frenzy. Or perhaps it was the clanking of the heavy satchel draped over her shoulder as it whipped in the October winds. Alice didn't care. No, now wasn't a time for silence. Rather, haste was all that mattered in the mind of the young girl. She had taken much longer than anticipated in her night out. Alice had only come to that realization as she tore down the sidewalk, picking up her pace even more. The harrowed party with her friends was fast approaching, and there she was not dressed up or ready at all and still blocks from her house. It was either an error in judgement of time or Alice was trying to put off having to deal with a large group of rowdy teenagers as long as possible. They were her friends of course, but exhausting nonetheless. She would have chuckled at the thought was she not so fervently sprinting. Strange to call a simple gathering exhausting considering her current predicament.

Alice skidded to a halt on the side street. Finally her house was in sight. She didn't have a lot of time to work with, but she imagined she'd make it to the party nonetheless. Her friends would likely string her up if she bailed, or at least, she imagined they would. Bail one too many times and suddenly there's a witch hunt. Alice would have to work fast, though. She had quite the plan, but shooting through her back door and into her room, she realized her arrival was going to be a bit more delayed than first expected. At least her father wasn't around to bother her. Had he been at the church that late? Alice would never find out, nor did she particularly care. It was all enigmas in the small weaver family. Taking her hood down, Alice huffed as she looked into her full-body mirror. Covered in sweat, hair disheveled, and without makeup, she had some work to do. Without hesitation or even a moment's rest, Alice skidded across the floor to her laptop. It only took a few seconds to queue up some music. With her favorite indie hip hop jams on repeat, Alice wasted no time in getting ready. She had to appear perfect after all— the only way she'd dare portray herself.

After a quick shower, Alice ran her hands through her short brunette locks. She certainly didn't have the perfect hairstyle for her costume or the perfect hair color for that matter, but she figured it was light enough for the meaning to get across. Her outfit was already laid out and ready to wear. Before she put it on, Alice spent a moment admiring both her handiwork with the costume and her mental ingenuity that had birthed the idea. She had conceded to the fact that her idea was universally the best costume idea that she could ever come up with within a minute and a half of contemplation. It took a bit more finesse than she had first expected. Having done little to no sewing in her life before this, though, Alice was entirely impressed with the blue and white dress sat before her. Of course, it was mostly complete as she had it, but the lace flourishes that were embroidered along its lining were all her own work. Alongside that, Alice had made a point to lengthen the dress a bit to allow it to just brush her knees. It looked more rough, but she was pleased with it nonetheless, whether for fear of the cold or the opinions of others.

It was the perfect fit for her— in a number of senses. An homage to Carroll's nineteenth century literature and modern humor that was basically required for Halloween costumes. At least, that was what Alice thought. Without cleverness, who would she be? Definitely not Alice on her Adventure's in Wonderland. A unique blend of wit and puns while still maintaining a cute look— exactly what she needed. Of course, the costume alone wasn't nearly enough, no. Alice as Alice, had to go beyond simplicity. Leaving her hair almost the exact same way it was normally styled save for a simple headband that accentuated the color she had draped around her body, the next move was makeup, and that was where Alice would shine. Her look was subtle, as always, but Alice still managed to fit herself with some flair with small symbols of each suit in a deck of cards just below her eye. The perfect mixture of diminutive while also showing off... Just like her...

In her rush to get out of the door, Alice spent quite a bit of time not rushing and instead hesitating to make sure she had everything she might need. She never did leave the house without one of her satchels. There were too many handy things to carry around. Tonight, her bag would be filled with a small makeup kit to provide touch-ups and it would also offer a place to store the black zip-up hoodie when she arrived at Ron's house alongside whatever else may have already been prepared in the bag's various pockets. Of course she wasn't going to be wearing that dress out in the open. It was by far to flashy for her usual style, but it was time to shine for the holiday. In transit, however, Alice reverted to her covert look from the earlier hours of the night. Anything to take eyes off of her.

Alice always enjoyed the quiet walks she took at night. More often than not, she found herself ambling along the dim streets near to her home, but in this instance she moved with purpose. Late enough as is, Alice had somewhere to be. Luckily for her, little Sterling Heights made her journey a quick one. Distracted by the hypnotic patterns of distant fire in the sky, Alice arrived before Ron's house before she knew it. There was a brief moment of hesitation in her step as she crossed onto the house's driveway. Was she late enough? Perhaps she should have waited longer. Shaking the silly thoughts from her head, Alice made haste to escape the cool outside for the much needed warmth within, shedding the hooding and draping it over her arm as she knocked upon the door.

"Time to go among the mad people," Alice spoke in a introspective voice as she mottled the Carroll quote. There was more where that came from. She knew that, and reveled in it as much as her friends may have dreaded it. There was almost a bit of a dance to her step as she entered, only continuing in her tirade.

"Who in the world am I? Ah, that's the great puzzle..."

The Last Embers (Dark Steampunk/Fantasy)

Hey everyone!

So, right now I think @CollectorOfMyst and @OppositionJ are working on posts. Can I get a quick update on where you guys are at? No hurry of course.

I'll also be working on another post from Hassan's perspective at some point. And probably Ilya. Because he exists. Somewhere.

@Lovejoy

Post inbound! If I don't finish tonight, then within the weekend.