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@Kefka Palazzo - Brilliant as always!
Great suggestion, and makes a little more sense with the overall nature of the other negative effects.


M O N I K A A B E N D R O T H - F A Y E
Twenty-three. 6th, September. 167 cm. Guardian.


♛ A P P E A R A N C E
Compiled from a rather courteous selection of genetics, and a blessing of generous categories of fair and dark — rich and pale — and the massive pool from a deposit of myth and lore of both Abendroth and Faye; Monika is impressed to be a beauty of harsh athleticism and discipline. Rigid proportions and posture are gilded and framed by the cadaverous inflection of her palour; a near translucent tone of pallid flesh that is only blemished by the harshness of rigorous training and methods of practice that have forged into the intricacies of being a Guardian. Dissented to stagnation and languorous qualms, and regaled with persistent cardio has afforded Monika with visual, self-endowed perfection by her musculature and fortified prowess by the impart of her inner whorl of spiritual inhabitants. Translated easily to the perfect warrior.

Her countenance of manipulative delicacy hosts harsh eyes of a crystalline blue, a gift from her infamous mother, but without the glowing pain and sorrow of sapphire to make them glimmer — these are the glimpses from the unification of sky and water, boring into a foundation of ice and just as sharp and piercing like the turmoils of winter. Combined with this conviction of icy azure is the most contradicting foundation on Monika’s overall debut: the long mane of black hair that reaches and curls in the minuscule dip of her spine. The practicality of it is lost, and more so gestures to the means of fashion and appeal though the latter is not crucial to her process. Often taming this mass of ebonette appeal into a plait or an elaborate mess about the crown of her head, Monika is noted often for its sheer mass in comparison to her other featurettes; such as her height, her musculature of slender arms and thin shoulders, or even the myriad of scars decorating the expanse of her palms and limbs from the requirements of deadly efficiency incurred from swordsmanship.

Her wardrobe is practical, if anything, and without restraint despite her aforementioned appeal of discipline. Some things need to be given lee way to ensure nothing is hampering in the least, and sporting in the smallest of athletic wears is the common representation Monika dons for, only to be sheathed by grey or white blouses of loose restriction that taper off her shoulders and the common place uniform of black trousers that cinch about her hips and tighten to her thighs and knees before sectioning off just beneath the caps. Being a creature of habit and consistency, as it were, she is seen in little else aside from the requirement of uniform.


♛ I D E O L O G Y
It’s universally known that Monika is the reflection of her peers: antithetical, the standing poise and caretaker of fluctuated personalities by the means of spiritual influence and lack of restriction despite military bondage. Where some are oft to be ridiculed as a child, Monika is often berated for being beyond maturity, that her presented attitude is strict, bound, and rigid in that it doesn’t yield to informal injustices and influences of a luxurious mindset. She has a suspicious and offensive nature to her inquires, always questioning against the initial judgment of her peers and betters by speculation that her original impression is not pleased. This settles her standards to be developed to extreme means of near perfection and must uphold to her regulated measures of battle conduct and capability. Due to her inquiring spite, Monika has a difficult time in being impressed or swindled into favour by her various military comrades, this leaves Monika in the assumption that she does not even have sympathy beyond her impressive walls and chasm of emotional discipline, often assumed as cold and dissociated.

Due to the manner in which Monika grew up, by her own childish misconception, she adheres to the belief that she has to be stronger, faster, better — to achieve a standard she has imposed upon her self by the simplest words ever uttered to her during her youth. She religiously follows that she must be the best to protect those dearest to her, a feat that has only been achieved by a selected few. But, just how far can those close to her be when Monika continues to shield herself from the unacceptable concept of failure or weakness. Certain parameters have warped Monika’s desire of self improvement to a desperate, inner need of value and importance; to be worthy and to earn the splendors of life even if she does not personally go out of her way to enjoy them otherwise.

Whilst fortified in a rigid plantation and philosophy of what she should be, rather than what she could by her potential, and inner personality in which remains an entire mystery by deliberate endeavors, Monika only smiles and seems nurturing around her family. And goes to the extremes of protective kinship that alludes to an obligation beyond commonality. It’s only around them that she seems to relax and temper down, however slight that might be.


♛ B A C K G R O U N D
Born in the darkness and cold tundra of an Anatolian village, dotted with farms and forgotten, legendary history, the settlement that birthed the infamous Abendroths: Thuringia. Here, the memoirs of Monika Renne Abendroth-Faye are askew in the common conception of childhood carelessness, burdened from the introductory age of impression and inclination to the intricacies of the world. She knew, from the very beginning, that she was different. Though, standing next to her twin, their differences and leagues of development were never the same and whilst they flagged behind, she charged ahead with the silent ruthlessness of a child blessed and very well informed and intuitive of their own advantage. However, to purge her from arrogance, the infamous Magdalena Abendroth — the pale WARG veteran — bent to her daughter and informed her with no less than confusing words that she had to protect everyone: be there for them, guide them, shield them from the ugliness of the world that had burned, scoured, and mocked her before she had been saved. They told her the truth: about their families and ties of Abendroth and Faye curses melded into her very soul, and the soul of her brother. But, salvation rested in the palms of family and friendship, and Monika took that and warped it into the obligation of being better, stronger, and above the means of mediocre and nurture it into a self—torturing need for achievement and exceptional growth to eclipse the infections of her birth rite.

The family was supportive, loving, colourful in the massive unity that it was, despite the shadows that cantered after them. But, Monika only saw this as a need to grow and mature into a certain mold, she sectioned off her emotions, but one particular wicker of empathy could not be kept from her heart. Guilt soured her protective nature, in some way she felt responsible for her late twin's condition and no amount of forgiving and whispered recurrences from her parents could alleviate that blemish on her perfection. Even as a child, young and shadowing his every stumble, she couldn’t keep the sheer agony of being at fault, and thus spurred the near obsession to prove her worth — that despite it all, she had to be the best because of every circumstance laid bare in their connection.

The Calamity didn’t leave much of an impression, a tragedy to mark the pinnacle of growth, but not enough to emotionally tear apart her resolve. They were fortunate that the Calamity Gate was far enough to the East, that they suffered minimal influence until the Dark Zone spread, forcing the family to retreat further North in Anatolia in fear of the increasing Mordrem. It only served to thrust the initial premise of her overall obsession, to rise above the faults of war and exotic combatants as the years increased with muttered tales and anxious reports from the front lines. Though she lost her grandfather and her eldest uncles to the summons, whom later were filed to have become Husks, and taking her mother and father as well to the front lines in pursuit for the infantry. The family didn’t linger on the bereavements and instead found solace in the remaining and the ability to make a difference; or so they claim.

Thus it only seemed natural that Monika was drafted to become a part of Oak Ridge, her induction pre—determined by the involvement of her parents within the academic ranks and the military and the sheer empowerment of the spirits that have retreated into her being.






♛ W A R F A R E
[] Adapting to the preference of melee warfare in the contingents of military force, Monika’s choice of weapon has fallen away from traditional masses. Where swords were slick, slender, and uniform in their aesthetics, hers was customized to absolute mass and power. Wielded in the slender vices of her hands, the towering, dual-wielded sword known as The Caladbolg preens both unadulterated strength and finesse; elegant and deadly in the unique customization of its’ overall design and as is long as she is tall, extending reach and blade. Her blows fall heavy, sundered from the consistent practice and religiously executed practices of her swordsmanship. Monika’s agility is queerly profound, even wielding such a claymore, singing promises of death and fury and near perfection in the intentions of harm and swift ruin.


The sheer mass of spiritual conglomerate within Monika has often been a pinnacle of observation and juncture of objectified quality and quantity. The benefaction of her birth rite from those of the Abendroth and Faye often favour the strong, their souls literal bedlams of empowered absorption. This curse of assimilation endowed Monika with thick weaves of spirits that naturally seeded themselves within her mind of fortitude, but also effected and plundered the soul of her twin. The result left him underdeveloped and later embezzled his very existence. Thus, Monika’s magnitude of remnants from the Etro exceeds that of traditional Guardians, fostered to extremes of power: so amassed that her methods of magical inclination can underpass into non—existence numbers, or override typical units to measure spiritual aptitude.


◇ Diamant. [ Ice ] [ Dark ] [ + Reflect ] [ + Protect ] The progression of these spirits amass to two stages, or rather, two forms of provision. In the initial subject, the original is considered entirely passive, embellishing Monika's complexion to behold a peculiar glimmer, surrounding her like lamplight, and the surface blessed with a cold, frigid surface that inflicts her graces of physical touch to be a few degrees below normal circulation. At first, the caresses from her fingers appear slick and cool, however prolonged exposure and concentration grant her pores with lesser degrees of heat until nearly painful and arctic. The secondary premise of these spirits accumulate to splinter across Monika in slivers of ice, reflecting and shimmering like kaleidoscopes of diamond; hardened and deadly in refinement and protection. These splinters and tines eclipse skin and armour alike, usually surfacing upon activation to receiving injury or ill intent from enemies. These spirits adhere and value vigor, loneliness, protection and intensity. They manifest as glimmering, willowy figures of feminine likeness.

◇ Vergeltung. [ Holy ] [ + Empower Lancer ] [ + Dawn ] [ - Vampire ] Both divine and vengeful, these spirits have gathered and swarmed as one to reflect the harsh intricacies of divinity and enlightenment. The light of the good and benevolence can sometimes spear righteous and pain to those that oppose them, and with the swing of her mighty sword, Monika can direct and summon spears of burning, all—consuming energy to target her opponents. Consumed of an all righteous and holy flame that burns with eternal intensity, and also empowers her soul and those eclipsed in the luminescence of her vengeful blow and retribution, empowering her comrades as well. These spirits value divinity, vengeance, absolution, purity, and fortitude. They manifest in the forms of winged creatures with vulpine attributes and the faces of mortals.

◇ Herrlichkeit. [ Dark ] [ + Frenzy ] [ - Curse ] [ - Terror ] [ - Pain ] [ - Imperil ] Submitting to the extremes of power, and ambition, these spirits have unified to a unique severity. Deformed, warped and misconstrued empathy forming from the dregs of loss, woe, and fear. These spirits are harsh and unrelenting, escaping from Monika from the ducts of her eyes, lips, and releasing from the wells of her soul in the apparitions of tentacles, slithering to envelop the enemy in their grasp. They inflict wounds of psychological fear and terror, rather than psychical lashes or wounds. In their wake these spirits will often leave an irritated path of ebony from where they touched, but soon dissipate as the effects sink into their hearts and minds. These spirits value aggression, ambition, savagery, and fear. They manifest as a literal void.


♛ A S P E K T S
◇ Lancer.
◇ Vicar.
◇ Sentinel.
◇ Adept.


♛ T R I V I A
Theme.
◇ Monika grows her hair in memory of her brother, who often played with it in their youth.
◇ She carries the secondary key of a gold and silver set designed for them both.
◇ Suffers, silently, from routine insomnia and nightmares of guilt.
◇ Her full name is Monika Renee Abendroth-Faye, partially named after her father.
◇ All Abendroth's sired from her grandfather have names that start with the letter "M" - her brother excluded.
◇ Her late brother's name is Reine Moses Abendroth-Faye, partially named after their uncle who was the twin to their mother.





@Prisk - I was honestly thinking of some exotic effects whilst creating Monika's spirits, specifically for Herrlichkeit, all of these are negative effects.

Terror - Suffers from temporary immobilization.
Pain - Take increased damage from physical attacks.
Imperil - Take increased damage from magical attacks.

@DJAtomika - I'm well enough, can't complain. Just the usual busy schedule with work and such, finally managed to bring everything to a decent consistency so I'm not overwhelmed.
All right my dears, I don't usually instruct what you should do. But, to give an idea of what to post for, I'd suggest the SOLDIERS make way to the office where Evangeline and James are located. This way I can post again and we can progress to the Event that leads to the timeskip!




SOLDIER Base — Saboteur Centre.

Almost twenty—four hours had passed since the departure of the SOLDIER contingent of one hundred fifty—five, pattered and inducted with randomized SOLDIER troops from separate units under the President's order; much to the glowering brow of one particular Sentinel Commander and his wife. And within those twenty—four hours a collective of digital information had been transferred through the frequencies of the Libra Scan system linked directly to the eternal collaborations of the Saboteur's Command Centre. The matrix was a complexity of particular codes that created a whorl of imagery in the presentation of textual evidence to the initial battle in the fields of Luan. Beryl oculi swept in increments over the supplied additions to the Libra Scan, properly assessing the evident threat of the fowl known to roost in the spires of Esper Ridge. A pale brow contoured, however, when the Libra Scan also assessed and calculated the lack of damage and severity when Phantasms — hellacious in their own prowess — seemed to glean over and object to a select few of the SOLDIERS. There was no evidence in the collected arithmetic that broadcast injury, despite the macabre results of sundered infantry and a Behemoth hull damaged.

That is what gave the Saboteur Commander pause.

The muffled whir and whoosh of the hub's solitary door withdrew her attention briefly, familiarity and warmth lightening her eyes to a tranquil cerulean in sequence with the bulbs flickering to life at the sound of dulls thuds and tread.

"How was the meeting?" Magdalena inquired, placing her back against the terminal continuing to process and analyze by the ascending matrix at it calculated through compilations of digital testimony.

"A waste of my time," Rene rejoined, propping his shoulder against azure—coated steel. "It's only from Haziq's and Kim's persistence that I even bothered to attend. Rayne was utterly pissed." His eyes slid over the petite and acute stature of his wife, eyes canted to one side in a curious pass over. "Did you know Ondřej Ó Dubhshláine?"

"I knew of him," she informed in the colour of nonchalance, arachnid fingers sweeping through her blonde fringe. "But not personally. I ran a scan, but only gleaned that he was apart of Aeon Technology. But that's a lost terminology, I took the liberty of researching through the archives but..." Magadalena sighed, a soft whisper of breath bubbling from her lips as her gesture swept over her brow and gathered across the bridge of her slight nose in a delicate pinch of frustration. "I can't gain clearance to anything associated with Aeons. The fact that Rayne was so enraged about Ondřej Ó Dubhshláine's death makes me ponder if there is some underlined connection to his demise and his previous occupation."

Rene scoffed. "Maybe you should have attended that meeting, I just stood there in the back whilst they all tossed shit back and forth, I couldn't make heads or tails of half of the things those scientists were hashing back 'n forth with the Council."

"I would have attended, but I don't want to be too far away from..." She gestured off handily over her slender shoulder, encompassing her entire terminal of the Saboteur Centre. The hub was minuscule, almost stifling and tomb like in the fortifications of steel and technology; ever span of alloy and walls laden with some model of precocious telecommunication. Rene often felt obtuse and gargantuan when he visited his wife, her own diminutive size bore enough testimony to their vast differences, much to the community's diversion. She bore a grin though, a delicate and fragile simper that was reserved just for him, and though brittle on the edges of her bow shaped mouth, it was endearing.

"I understand. But you need to rest, you're no use if you're tired." Rene chastised, his tone gruff, and potentially mistaken as crude, but to her it was of carefully cloaked care and kindness only she was privy to.

"I would, I will, when I figure out what's going on. I don't like these secrets and suspicions suddenly popping up even since I managed to dismantle the hack. In nearly a day, everything we've known is being brought into question. Even this battle information is... off." Magdalena pirouetted on her heel to face and confront her terminal, the screen emblazoned in lapis. "And everything I attempt to research is either blocked or suspiciously barren, even the files of our fellow SOLDIERS. I ran a simple diagnosis over the ones selected for the mission, other than their recent physicals and health records, there is almost nothing for their histories." A swift pass of her palm across the screen maximized the files in question, each SOLDIER individually displayed with their numerical epitaphs glimmering above each profile portrait. "I'm beginning to even doubt the information of their names, ages, and even these health records. It's too neat, proper, as if carefully illustrated for some purpose..."

Rene's brow fell, harsh and broad, his expression one of brooding and foreboding contemplation. "Have you spoken to Kim about this?" He muttered, clipping his voice low to avoid the rage boiling within. Whilst Magdalena sired her company under sabotage and secrets, he disfavoured the inclination of secrecy and lies; you never knew what was real anymore.

"No," she admitted with a sliver of pallid bone against her pout. "I haven't told anyone of what I'm doing in here, Olivia and I briefly discussed our suspicions outside the Council Chambers, but she quickly left after that. I don't know where she is..."

"She wasn't at the meeting." Rene concluded, eyes never leaving the profiles of the SOLDIERS. His gaze flickered, darkened on the pass of Henri's file and swiftly fell onto the blonde whirlwind of cheer and exuberance that was overbearingly bright and searing with her vocals and smiles. A minute passed between his events of scrutiny, every SOLDIER presented bore some kind of connection, a deeply pitted and seeded thread of Fate — this he believed. It could not be considered a coincidence, Rene did not adhere to happenstance. Experience had violated and mutilated that luxury of chance in his life, alongside with torturing Magdalena's complexity of persecution and paranoia.

"Where is Kim now?" She breathed, drawing and severing his glowering fixation on her screen.

"I assume they went back towards the Medical Wing," Rene supplied, carefully watching and observing as she began rapidly tacking in her process of suspension on her terminal, the sheer amount of gates and method of access daunting as she enclosed each of her modules of research and information. Until finally the screen winked to an ebony glow and finally shimmered with the insignia of the Dalmasice government: the crest of a blue whorl.

"Good then, hopefully I'll run into a couple of your favourite scientists as well." Magdalena uttered, ascending up the platforms of her command centre, lights humming to life as she came into near eye level with her husband, peering endlessly into the earthen stare she knew intimately. "Join me? We haven't spent much time together in months."

"Of course."

And the Commanders of Sentinel and Saboteur left, determined to shed light on their suspicions and ominous quarrels.








Mrihl — The Manor

She had been gazing vacantly at the martial flex of her hands, palms out, digits splayed, her scrutiny deliberate despite the coating of nylon and metallic woven fibers that protected her dexterous implements. When she realized that she was no longer alone, that was the official sundering of her peculiar, vacant observation, and she slowly twisted her wrists, aligning them almost in perfect horizontal performance in juncture to her forearms despite the strain of sinew. Every satisfactory pop from her impromptu companion made her twitch, the sounds assaulting her ears and nerves, fraying them into queer sensations that spiraled up each of her arms, fingers curling inward to her palms until she thrust her fists down, planting them firmly at her sides.

"Yeah..." Evangeline whispered, meticulous sighs and breaths following, chest rising and falling as she slid her gaze along, peering through the dark, ebony—gold of her fringe of lashes. Exhilaration and terror both masquerading within their hearts and souls, spiraling outward into their intentions and making them ruthless and efficient, yes. . . "It was something, all right." She managed to compound her sigh, carefully accentuating her cadence in favour of smothering her blossoming discomfort from her previous silence and contemplation.

"You kind of lost yourself." She blurted out then, unsure and incapable of discerning if she was referring to herself, or to him. She recalled to the manic laughter and squeals of the Eagle he had torn apart, the communication channel providing the entire unit with evidence to his brief moment of sadistic lunacy. Evangeline studied James carefully. In truth, she had been anticipating Luc to locate her, to follow up on the conversation to formalize a proper stratagem. Or, the rest of the SOLDIER contingent to host a meeting to discuss the battle. Or, the elusive shadow that had yet to return to the Manor, but James was not the one she had been expecting at all. He appeared too casual, too at peace with himself despite the battle — as if he had come to terms with the yielding results of death and ruin.

She had not.

Evangeline had no answer to why the gusts of terrible, slaying wind had spared her and Hally, and yet had flayed apart skin and bone and even damaged the hull of the Behemoth. She should have been damaged, skin should have bled and peeled apart in the manner of separating muscle and veins... She reflected on their first conversation, the official bequeathing of his name accompanied by their eager admissions to battle and the shared exhilaration they shared. But. That battle had been too different.

And that's when she realized she had not thought of Hally at all.

She almost panicked, and if not for James sitting there, natural in his reclining figure and tracing idle figures against the wood, she would have bolted from the office. She silently scolded herself, despair coating her oculi, drowning the respective Heterochromia as her brow contoured and fell, her mind awash in near shame. No wonder she felt off—centre, no wonder. . .

"How are you so calm?" Evangeline inquired, palms flush against the desk suddenly, slapping the wood with a groan and snap of her armour nearly fracturing the furniture, the top briefly shuddering as she leaned forward. "That battle... Did you notice anything strange? Did you see anything?" She continued, her tangent slipping into a frenzied flourish, the blonde Saboteur hovered, drawing closer to impale her bi—coloured stare deep into the depths of his scarlet gaze.

@Blackbeard - That's wonderful, I just needed a theme to orient the effects that I use when making these so they all fit and assemble together properly when you use them. I shall have all these done within the week, or sooner!
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