One x One Dappled Light: Characters

[Lucyfer]

The Marked:

• Gwaine Ivantes, the Prodigal, the Sun.​
• Lucan, the Betrayed, the Hermit​
• Ava Vining, Strength​
• Gwendolyn of Deadwood, High Priestess​

Others:

• Rina Terst, Captain in the Renascene
• Lind Terst, Member of the Renascene (maybe marked; twin of Rina)
• Joanna Davis, traveling preacher of the Renascene.
• Father Brean, Ersetuan Cleric.
• Steffan, Cobbler in Hilbes
• Henry, Academic in Hilbes
• Charlie, operator/bartender of a tavern in Hilbes.
• Johnny Longgood, may of Deadwood.

Notable Deceased:

• Reamun, the Vampire of Hilbe​
• Mataline, the Vampire of Solvit​
• Grand Father Fillis, of the Ersetu Faith.​
• Phillip Vining, father of Ava.​
• Mara Vining, mother of Ava.​
• Vera Strauss, former mayor of Deadwood.​

 

[Lucyfer]

Name: Gwaine Ivantes
Age: 37
Species: Human…of a sort. Dubbed “Prodigal”.
Occupation: The Reformer.

Appearance: Gwaine Ivantes stands at 5’11”, broad shoulders and a sturdy, muscular build. He has blonde hair that is mostly on the golden side, although some white strands have started to crop up more noticeably both in his hair, and in his beard, which he keeps trimmed close to his face, but still covers his chin and the sides. He is tanned, his skin naturally having a ruddier, darker appearance – as in, in winter, inside, he doesn’t become pasty. His eyes are a notably light blue, and the left one in particular stands out due to a white birthmark that resembles a half-circle with triangular lines coming off of it – or a half-sun, as others have taken to calling it, the symbol that has marked him for his destiny.

History: Gwaine Ivantes was born to a banneret house, Ivantes, and so while not among the nobility, and not as rich as even some merchants, he was of a respectable position, and was bound to continue the tradition of serving to protect the world, by protecting the Tree, Ersetu, within the capital – Solvit. He was born in Solvit, and his earliest memories are of his father taking him to see it, and introducing him to the other nobles, the others who served to protect Ersetu.

He was repulsed and afraid the first time he saw Ersetu, and his father told him Ersetu was sick – but it would get better, just as he had recovered from illness, so, too, would Ersetu. Their job was to protect it, and to make sure it had time and safety to heal.

It never quite left his head, though, that Ersetu could sicken, and could die.

As he grew, he learned more about Solvit, and the area around. He met the local leaders as often as he met the people, and he was easily beloved. He had an upbeat personality, he was always quick to smile, and quick to reassure and encourage. He became a banneret in his own right at the age of seventeen, but went on to further his studies a bit, moving for a brief period to the city of Hilbes, where the vampire Reamun ruled over his people.

He was an odd one to Gwaine, not worshipping God, but worshipping those things which he could see – and that one thing which he could not, the Sun. He introduced Gwaine to a world of so-called spirits and elementals, to things Gwaine knew were out there, but which tended not to be in the cities of humans to such a degree as they were. Reamun’s most enduring lesson, however, was of cycles – that everything had an end. Everything was transient, and everything needed to end. He seemed to have grown embittered towards the endless life of vampires, thinking it unnatural.

When Gwaine asked of Ersetu, Reamun just laughed.

Gwaine returned at the age of 23 to Solvit, versed more in the world outside, in the world as it had been, in the technology of others, and he went to the task of protecting Ersetu, and raising up new generations to protect Ersetu.

Ersetu was not recovering.

The ersetuans began to blame people for their sins, that their actions were polluting Ersetu– and Gwaine became an enforcer of the will of the ersetuans, being sent out to areas where suspected heresy or other notable sins were being committed, in order to stop the poison from reaching Ersetu. He became versed in the faith, and earned a nickname of “Choir Boy” and “Songbird” – the former, less mockingly – for his voice when singing praises and leading heartfelt sermons as a civilian of sorts.

People listened to him, after all. It was a natural instinct, because he always appeared so sincere, and so devout to his duty – which, he was. He wanted a better world, and he wanted to make it happen, and so, this seemed the way. He threw himself into it. He did not prefer to kill where it could be avoided, but where it could not, he was cold, and he was efficient.

Years went on.

A limb fell from Ersetu.

People were brought in to try and graft it back on, magics were used, and Gwaine requested permission to take a small band with him to seek out other possibilities, on the continent, or beyond. Mataline of Solvit granted this to him.

He was gone for two years.

When he returned, it was not with the band that went with him, but with figures clad in golden-red robes.

He had found a way to fix the problem, once and for all – a problem he knew was a problem, but hadn’t known how to fix. He had seen much done to Ersetu over time, and its slow decay was inevitable, but nothing before had seemed likely to hasten it. No blade cut it – it was almost hilarious that it needed protecting.

Now he understood, for The Renascence had known of this for a long time – and, in fact, Reamun had helped them to know – that Ersetu needed to die for the world to grow, to change, to adapt, and become better.

It was Reamun himself who set Ersetu to flames, laughing even as he himself burned away in the fire, and in the light of the sun – for it was a beautiful day as Gwaine stood before them all, highlighted by flames and blue sky, to tell them boldly that this was the way, that Ersetu would only continue to sicken, and so destroy their world slowly. If they killed it now, they could preserve their world.

There would be a recovery period, but it would get better if they gave it time.

Naturally, many of those who swore their lives to the protection of Ersetu did not believe this, and they were cut down, all but one. Mataline did not accept this and she, too, was killed, but many others did. The Renascence were a sect of ersetuans, after all. Gwaine was the leader of those who meant to protect Ersetu at that time, and Reamun had been a well-respected Noble who had devoted himself to the esoteric.

It followed what many, farmers in particular, understood of nature – death brings life.

 

[Lucyfer]

Name: Ava Vining
Age: 97; she thinks she has a lifespan of around 300 years but she doesn’t know. She appears in her late teens/early 20s.
Species: Half-Siren, half-human
Occupation: Bard/Traveling Minstrel; Strength Marked

Appearance: Ava Vining stands at a mere 5’1”, with fair skin that holds a bit of an unnatural green tint to it. Her hair is a coppery red that falls in a mess of waves and curls to the small of her back when loose, but it’s usually pulled back in a braid, with some corkscrews falling out around her face. She has dark blue eyes, and a soft build – not muscular by any means. Her waist is discernable, more top-heavy than bottom, but no one would call her ‘curvy’.

She has two notable marks, and three other features relating to her bloodline.

For one, her fingers are elongated, and the nails themselves are sharper than the norm. She keeps them grown a little long, but often wears gloves.

Her feet are also arched, and toes elongated into talons, another thing that is also, always, covered with boots she tends to get specially made for her needs in Hilbes.

Third, she does, naturally, have more canine teeth than she does others sorts of teeth.

Then she has something of a tattoo along her upper back that resembles teal, purple, and blue feathers, and moves onto the back of either arm. She’s had her wings sealed since she was a child, rather against her will, by her father going to a vampire. Ava has tried to live without them, knowing they would mark her for what she is, and that would cause problems given the reputation of her mother’s bloodline.

Then there is the mark of Strength, though she doesn’t know what it is, and it is usually covered as well. It appears as a line of teeth, or an open mouth of some beast, around her left wrist. It doesn't stand out much due to being white, but in the right light it's noticeable.

History:

Ava Vining was born to a young minstrel in the port town of Ner, who ended up meeting, befriending, and falling in love with an actual siren. Not that he knew it for quite a while, for her nature was kept hidden with her own magics and illusions. To this day, Phillip has no idea if Mara actually loved him back, or if there was some other reason for all of it.

He knows that when his child was born with wings and taloned feet, he had questions – and she fled in the face of them, leaving him to be terribly confused.

Thankfully, there was one advantage to a half-siren daughter – even if he didn’t understand her screaming and crying, the impulse that her voice held told him what was needed, so he never questioned if she wanted food, to be changed, or to be held. Though she did stay an infant longer than he preferred – about two years longer, and it seemed to be the norm that she grew slower, rather than faster, though her mind wasn’t so slow as her body. It was a bit hard to explain to the neighbors, and he moved several times to try and keep it hidden that he had a monster for a daughter.

Not that he thought of her that way. Often. But he knew others would. He lived in fear of that, and eventually forced himself into the court of Reamun to ask for help.

Reamun did what he could – he sealed his daughter’s wings to her, the feature most difficult to hide, for a price, which was the name of her mother.

Phillip heard talk of a successful hunt at sea not long after that, but he didn’t dare to go confirm it.

Ava grew into her own over time, her diet a bit more on the carnivorous side, and more than a few men or women making awkward conversation in the morning with Phillip some days. Ava stayed with Phillip until the end of his own days, still youthful and vibrant even though she’d long passed 50. She spent time in Hilbe learning the arts of herbs and medicine, and even learning to train her voice to certain vibrations, the way cats did, to encourage growth and healing. When Phillip did finally pass, she set out on her own adventures to tour the world, as he had done once upon a time.

It’s easy enough to make a living with a voice like hers, after all, but she does tend to offer a bit more than that, to places that need it, for a place to stay. Around port towns, she does find it a bit more difficult to ignore certain urges to lure people out and kill them, but she tries to make do with raw animals, rather than raw people, even if a voice in the back of her head can’t help but ask what the difference really is.

And…well…there have been a few indulgences with people that have tried to rob her. She ends up feeling terribly guilty about that. Usually at least finds a way to let their family know that they’re dead.

She’s no stronger than she looks, but her voice does have a way of soothing…and then claws and talons help where strength lacks.

Regardless, she’s seen much of the world, except what’s over the sea. One thing she recalls from Reamun was a warning not to cross the sea – that it would spell the end of her time among humanity. Whether or not that was true, she doesn’t know…but she isn’t willing to test it, and he seemed smart.

Then, she heard about Ersetu. Solvit.

She thought to rush to Solvit, but when she arrived, it was all over – no one to heal, and a city rebuilt, reformed, and a new message being put out into the world about what was to come, about the necessity of killing Ersetu. Ava stayed a while to try and gather her wits and understanding of what was going on, but in the end, she couldn’t.

It was sick. It was dying. She could taste it in the air and it repulsed her.

She left, but with many uncertainties. She wanted to try and resume life as usual, but the more she saw outside of Solvit, the more her heart broke.

The thought of going to sea occurred again, and this time, she is truly considering it, but she thought to make one last stop at Hilbe, to her father’s grave.

She’s ended up there longer than intended, for many seem to be sickening, or worse, mutating. It is the mutation that has her terrified, and devoting time to researching how to fight that, if nothing else, while all around her people are saying this is good, that the change is necessary. The Recanescene aren’t pleased with her researching things, but haven’t been told to impede her…yet.

 

[Melpomene]

Marked: The Hermit​

Name: Lucan (formerly Lucan Denalo)
Age: 26
Species: Human
Occupation: The Betrayed|Wandering Gunhand

Appearance: Though Lucan is not a particularly tall man, standing at 5'8, and he is quite lean, borderline lanky. It is quite obvious that he has been trained, as his muscles are defined, though he lacks bulk to make him seem more solid. He has a thick head of dark hair that has grown to hang to his shoulders, though he often keeps it tied back. He is swarthy, telling of his foreigner status with his honey brown skin that is marked heavily with scars. His eyes are black, so dark that pupil can hardly be told from iris, however, golden lines marred his right eye, coming into the shape of two interlaced triangles coming to make a hexagram surrounded by a circle with a dot between each point. He, however, has always kept this eye covered with a patch.

History: Lucan was born to a traveling Troupe with a whore for a mother and a playwright as a father. They were better known as travelling thieves, stealing money anywhere they could find it and taking jobs to perform for anyone rich enough to pay for their services. He came from nothing, he lived with nothing, and as far as most were concerned, he would die with nothing. He only knew survival and acted thus, stealing where he could slip his fingers in to, and hissing when he was caught. He served no one but himself and his family, yet even his family began to lose his loyalty as he grew older.

Ivan Denalo was a volatile man, quick to strike out at anyone who got in the way of his non-existent muse. Marta Denalo was never there, often she was off with a customer as her husband raged, as though he was the only man who had to settle for such a life.

They, however, were sure to make sure their son learned how to provide. Lucan was never quick witted in terms of speech quite like his father was, nor had he learned the ways of seduction like his mother. They claimed he took after his Uncle, becoming a nimble master of acrobatics, quick and sharp, lean and fast. It was said that he could take a man's underclothes and be gone before the man could even suspect something was amiss. He had eyes like no other, many claiming the symbol on his eye must be what caused such a feat.

But, unfortunately, most feared the mark in his eye. Most hated it. Most claimed it showed his demon's blood, and that was why he was so prone to fighting any other kid that came close to him. He was violent and angry, a demon in his own right.

Lucan, however, never questioned it. He never bothered to question it. Lucan simply covered his eye, not wanting to be bothered with the whispers any longer. Superstition was not something he could afford to fit in his life, he had no time to think of such things, rather often his mind lingered on his resentment of his position, his hatred of those born into places hire than he, his hatred that they sat on cushions day in and day out while he scrambled to get a ring to feed himself. More than anything, he often thought on his hatred of his own parents, his father who seemed too delusional to ever realize his writing was shit, or his mother who was slowly withering away from some disease she had caught during her years as a whore.

Nothing truly set him off to make him run away the night he turned 13. He often later rationalized it was their lack of attention that day which was the final straw, though it could not have been as they had never been particularly attentive. He wanted to rationalize that it was a calculated measure on his part, his idea of how he would best succeed. But it was none of those things. It was simply his immature mind, filled with hatred, unable to handle the amount of contempt he felt for those about him that led him to make the rash decision to run away and act as a vagabond for the next two years of his life.

And that was all he could call himself, wandering from town to town, stealing, shooting, buying, doing whatever odd job he could find to continue living. Life did not grow easier as he thought it would. Life only grew harder, and his resentment only grew and festered. He was working towards nothing, an aimless wanderer that could not even claim to have a hint of a goal.

A petty thief that would remain that and nothing more. He knew that, but he didn't stop. He knew of no other choice.

That was until a very fateful day. One which he could never forget.

It had been a very simple day, at first. Though he now remembers it vividly, then it had started no more special than any other. He had came into a town, straight backed and deeply tanned by the sun. He had come, spotting his target, a woman of high status with rings on her gloved finger and coin in the pockets of her fine dress, a fine blue jewel had rested against her white breasts, and Lucan had been drawn to the richness that seemed to radiate from her. He paid no mind to any of her supposed beauty, but only to the rings that could be his, how easy it would be, as a woman like that could even be threatened into handing anything over.

He had went about it like a normal robbery.

However, out of all the people to show up, he had not expected Gwaine Ivantes to have stepped into his life then and there. Lucan had never stood a chance. No matter how quick, no matter how skilled he had become, no matter how he maneuvered, he had ended up on his back, only able to look up at the man before him in unabashed awe. He would never forget the day because anyone else in their right minds would have left him for the dust, mutilated him, killed him, anything of the like.

And for once, the moment Gwaine had let Lucan take his hand and lead him to through the way of the Ersetuian Faith, the way of Ersetu, the way of life, for once Lucan had not felt alone. For once, he had not felt as though it was he against the rest of the world, but rather he and Gwaine against any that wished to seek harm against Ersetu, the tree of life. Both of them served, Gwaine serving as Lucan's guide through this world of fate and life, protection and understanding.

It brought a new sense of calm, of purpose. He was brought into the the band which protected Ersetu. He was given a new purpose: to seek out the heretics, to purge the world of sin and bring about a new era of faith and awakening. Side by side with Gwaine, he had done it happily.

He was 23 when Gwaine had left, finding a cure that they all desperately wanted. He was 23 when he began to truly shine in the group, leading several charges against sects of heretics, brining his rage and anger down against him. He was 24 when he was honored for his valiant efforts against the heresy that spread. He was 24 when he took on one of his first lovers, a lovely woman in the capitol, one which he thought he would marry.

He was 25 when Gwaine returned. He could remember it vividly. The smile that had broke on his face when he saw the man in the distance. The hope and joy, the cheer that had spread through his brothers and sisters at arms as their hero broke through the horizon and came to them. They had been ready to welcome him back, to commend him for his efforts.

Then Hell struck them down.

It was odd. Leading up to the slaughter, the burning, Lucan could remember in vivid detail. But the moment Erestu was set alight, the moment everyone's blood ran cold and their minds froze, unable to understand how the events could have come to be, it was a blur. A blur of death and blood. Of smoke and crimson. He could not even remember how he had managed to escape the slaughter, watching man after man die, himself wounded badly and practically crawling away from the battlefield.

After that day, he truly only knew unbridled rage.

 

[Lucyfer]

Name: Rina Terst
Age: 29
Species: Human
Occupation: Captain in the Renascence

Appearance: Rina Terst stands at an imposing 6’ even, with an muscular build. Her skin is dark brown. She keeps her black hair cut short, and it curls around her head and just touches her ears. Her eyes are a honey-brown hue, and her face is rather angular, all lines, no roundness to soften it up. She has a few light scars across her form, some long, one over her right calf is a bit knotted.

She wears the uniform of a Captain – a dark red duster with gold trim, golden armored boots and gloves, with plates of gold over joints, and stained-red leather armor. It nearly hides if she’s male or female, and most assume male at a glance. She tends to keep her red hat tilted low over her head, and golden cy-horse is a bit larger than others.

Notable Equipment:

• Gun
• Boom Hammer

History: Rina Terst, along with her twin brother, Lind Terst, were born to a single mother in Solvit. Twins, Raylin was not prepared in the least to deal with them, especially not after her husband died while fighting for ersetuans everywhere, and given nothing by the faith for it. Their mother did what she could, making a job of tailoring and repairing clothing, teaching both Lind and Rina how to do it, too, so they could chip in – the more they could do, the better. They worked out of their home, not able to afford a storefront.

Rina grew to loathe the ersetuan faith for sending her father to war and getting him killed – and doing nothing for his children. Lind was more forgiving.

Still, she held a begrudging respect for the Branches of Ersetu, their skill and their capabilities. She wanted to be like her father, and dislike the ersetuans as she did…she did like living.

Things changed, however, when Ersetu was burned.

She was there – as was Lind. She and Lind were still sewing. They’d tried to be branches back then, but they couldn’t afford it. No one had mercy on their situation – until then, when the world changed, and the tree burned, and she understood what was wrong.

Ersetu wasn’t just sick. It was dying, and through its dying, it was poisoning the world, spreading its necrotizing roots all around. They had to end it – and now, as part of the Renascene, Rina has purpose. Lind has purpose.

And their mother is taken care of, with people sewing her clothes, and men courting her for being part of one of the first families to support the revival of the world.

Rina has thus taken the honorable mission of going to Hilbe, were Reamun spent most of his time, to learn what he did. Unfortunately, she’s found that Reamun burnt most of his things before leaving, so she’s had to check the nearby academy for anything he left, for his history of research, and she’s had to question his staff about anything they might know, and track down his contacts and have them dragged to Hilbe if they refuse to come to her.

There’s also been the issue of the whole planet healing itself, and suffering through that – like a fever burning illness, she’s been witness to some horrors away from Solvit, but she reminds herself it’s necessary.

Soon, everything is going to be better. Still, she'd like to get some leave to go home and see Lind and Raylin. Or even consider some time to start a family, now that she has a life that can take care of them.

 

[Melpomene]

Name: Father Brean
Age: 43
Species: Human
Occupation: A Priest of the Ersetuan Faith

Appearance: Brean is a tall man, standing at 6', and he has the natural body of a scholar. He is thin, with no muscle on his body, making him appear borderline fragile. In recent times, his already older face begun to take on a more gaunt appearance, his cheekbones standing out in his withered old cheeks. His skin is tanned, spotted from the sun and age, as well as deeply wrinkled. Many compare it to leather. His hair is black and grey, the grey slowly beginning to take over, and it is kept closely cropped to his head, however it has thinned out so much he may as well shave it. His beard covers his neck, the same color as his hair. His eyes are a soft green and surrounded by crows feet.

He is usually found in the dark robes of the priest, proudly marking his continued belief in the Faith of Ersetuan. He has little to his name now, so he is often barefoot and found wandering from one place to another.

History: Brean was born into a Ersetuan loving family. It was during the blessed festival of Ersetu that he had been taken from between his mother's thighs and soon took his first breath. The priest had blessed him, signing the mark of the leaf upon his brow before rising and leaving to allow the couple to celebrate their newly born son. He was not the oldest, nor was he the strongest, but the moment he was born his mother had claimed to know he was destined to keep the faith strong.

As he grew, like all good children of Solvit, he had learned the faith. Every week he would travel to a gathering, sitting in the Trunks of Ersetu as the father or mother on the podium preached of the good which the tree of life brought, the way it had burst through the dead bitter Earth, and with its roots began to bring new life and vitality, purging the wicked and making way for the good.

It always made his mother happy to hear him repeat those words, her having come from a long line of a family whose youngest son was always sent to join the faith, in her older age she had known he would likely be her last child, and he did not wish to break tradition, nor did he wish to deny his calling. So it was a wonderful day when he stepped from his house with the announcement that he would join the Faith for certain, walking with the Bark of Ersetu beneath his arm and the promise of becoming a part of something much bigger than himself. He was to grow as Ersetu had itself, he was to remain as stable as Ersetu in the winds of sin. He was to bow his head to the most high and let it hear his prayers, he was to eat the flowers of Ersetu and let it bring him solace.

He was a good priest. His sermons became known far and wide. Women would faint when he spoke and men would stand and applaud when he finished. Their hearts were struck and their spirits quaked with the knowledge of what was awaiting them in the afterlife. Brean had been a good priest, even when he would break his celibacy and take a woman up to the room with him. Perhaps he partook in sin, but he still knew that Ersetu was the true way.

That was until Ersetu burned. And with it, his life.

He, like many other of his brothers, had fled for their lives when it had happened. Grand Father Fillis, however, had refused. Standing his ground, he said that the Roots of Ersetu died with him, and he would boldly dare whoever wished to see him dead great him in the Trunk of Ersetu itself. Many stayed. But Brean was no brave priest who would stand in the face of certain death. So, instead, he fled.

He did not know where he was going, nor did he have any plan. He only knew he ended up in Hilde, and there he had assumed the position of a beggar, looking for any handouts he could get from higher class people who would often roll their eyes, but toss him a penny out of disgust and pity. And he would take it to the local tavern, more often than not, and find himself a bowl to eat and ale to drink to forget his troubles. But in the end, he was still Father Brean of the Faith of Ersetu, and he knew he could be no one else.

 

[Melpomene]

Name: Joanna Davis
Age: 36
Species: Human
Occupation: Travelling Preacher of the Renascence

Appearance: She is an older woman, plump and beautiful. Her thick blonde hair is often twisted into a bun, swept away from her face and out of her dark eyes. She is solidly built, a curvaceous woman and ruddy checked, though she only stands at 5'3. Her face is round and soft, framed by a few golden curls that manage to make it out of her bun. She has a warm smile that often stays in the minds of men for days.

She is often found in simple dresses, often colored blue. They hug her form, though they cover her from her neck to her feet. She has strong arms and hands from handling her children.

History: Joanna Davis came from a humble background, born from a bastard daughter of a preacher. However, no one believed her mother when she claimed such things, claiming her mother to be a whore like any other that wished to capitalize on a poor man's success. It was decided then that they could not stay there. Joanna did not even know the name of her home, nor the name of her father, as they had left too quickly, threatened with stoning if they did not move quickly enough.

Joanna knew what being poor truly felt like. She knew the meaning of having no food in her belly, and the meaning of loneliness. Her mother was a tailor, constantly sewing on the outskirts of some small town in the North known as Mercy. They showed her no kindness, scoffing at her lack of a husband, no one wanted anything to do with her.

However, they loved the clothes she could sew them. The women would come, looking about as though they were being followed by the Dark One himself and come to her mother in the secrecy of a cloak and ask for a new dress, or scarf, or a new silk shirt for her husband. As though she did not scoff at them, or give them weary side-eyed glances as they walked through the town in search of something as simple as bread and water. Joanna was told to come to understand these women, but she only came to feel nothing more than hatred for them. And as the hatred festered, so did her displeasure with the faith her mother continually pushed on her.

Ersetu had done nothing for her family. Ersetu had watched as her mother was cast out for doing nothing more than what a preacher had asked of her, a Root of Ersetu itself, yet they were met with scorn and mockery.

Even as Joanna grew, having found a fine strapping young carpenter who had taken a liking to her. Even he given her children, she could not drop the bitter hatred she felt. At first she was quiet, rallying supporters against the faith under her. Going out without her husband's knowledge, hiding his cyber prosthetic before she would head out as though she would simply be finding pleasure passing time with other women. Instead, with a baby at her breasts and a head held high, she spoke out against Ersetu.

It was that way that she had begun to learn about the Renascence, about the true way of things. They spoke of the ending of a cycle, the notion which no one seemed to accept that Ersetu must die for a new life to be possible. She clung to it with all of her might, knowing her time would come one day.

And the day it burned had to be one of the happiest in her life.

Since that day she had only grown louder, and louder. Traveling across the nation to let them know what she had been calling for since the beginning, delighted as the Renascence rose, for they seemed to understand that Ersetu brought no good. And for them, she would rally people, letting them know of the rise of a new and better world now that Ersetu had burned.

 

[Melpomene]

Name: Gwendolyn of Deadwood
Age: 123
Species: Dhampir
Occupation: Judge (formerly Bounty Hunter)
Marked: The High Priestess

Appearance: Gwendolyn is pale, though less so than her Vampire counterparts. Her skin is warmly toned despite her paleness. She is dark blue eyes and black hair which falls in gentle waves to the small of her back, usually, it is kept in a low ponytail which either hangs down her back or over her shoulder. Her nails are sharper, longer, and stronger than an average human, showing her heritage. Whenever she speaks or opens her mouth if one pays attention they can see sharp fangs peeking out. She stands at 5'2 with a lithely built body. Her arms and legs are muscled just enough to show her athleticism, though it is not obvious. A birthmark, a Lunar crescent, upon her ankle, something which she always knew was odd, but never thought to question it. She is known to always dress elegantly, no matter what she is doing. Whether it be letting judgment be known, or hunting the lawbreakers.

History: Gwendolyn was born long before Ersetu had been burnt to a Vampire father and a human mother. The coupling was odd, a rarity for all to see. And to produce a child of the coupling was even moreso. A dhampir was not a novel concept, there had been dhampirs before Gwendolyn and there was likely at least one who was born after, but little was known about them. Everything Gwendolyn found out through slow experimentation. She was born and had to be taken care of like any other baby, though obviously there were complications seeing as she was the mix of the alive and the undead. It was as though she went through every step of life in short bursts, her body quickly growing to reach peak form, but her mind still needing to catch up.

It was through the help of her father, Sigmund, that she was able to shape and sharpen her mind. Her mind, in truth, was the biggest problem that came from the mixture of living and undead. Her crave for blood had lead her to biting her own mother on several occasions, and after the fourth time, Lara had elected to leave them behind, unable to handle the weight of it all. However, Sigmund had been ecstatic, especially as she grew older, to test her limits. In truth, her childhood, teenage years and early adult life blended together into an unseemly blur that she did not like to attempt to discern. Some may have come from her father's experiments, other times it may have just been her minds inability to keep up with her body. Either way, she only really knew bits and pieces of her past, a general foreboding always lingering around those memories, along with a general distaste.

She knew she could take being shot better than a human, handling the pain and the recovery a lot better, as well as a being stabbed. However, unlike Vampires, her heart was not the only target. She can bleed out and die from deeply inflicted wounds which are not given time to heal or are too numerous in number. She can go out in the sun, but has a much higher chance of becoming overheated than a normal human and on particularly sunny days cannot stay out in the sun for long. Fire is an extreme weakness, just as it is for Vampires. How long she would live was unknown to her, and frankly she did not care. Once her mind caught up with her body, she was given a more proper education which extended for many years, as Sigmund would not have a daughter, vampire or not, who was uneducated in any matter a vampire ought to be educated in. He was demanding, at times downright cruel, and always wishing to test the extent a dhampir could be pushed to.

Gwendolyn had left her father one day, leaving in the day when he could not follow with only a letter left behind, wishing him well, however she was not content living as his experimental dhampir. No matter how many times he had warned her that no one else would be as accepting of her condition as he was, she had left, not wishing to be around him any longer.

However, despite having been given one of the greatest educations one could ask for, the moment she left his mansion she realized that she did not know a thing about how to blend into normal society with the rest of the humans. Eventually, she had settled on using her physical prowess to become a Bounty Hunter, hunting down anyone who had broken the law and bringing them in so that a judge could bring them to justice. In the West, Gwendolyn the She-Devil was the name given to her for how many men she brought in kicking and screaming. For a long time, she had never even thought to look at the laws they had broken, only that they had done such a thing.

It was not until she had reached Deadwood that she came to understand some of the injustices of Ersetu. While the law had always been in her teachings, she had never taken to seeing it implemented.

The Mayor of Deadwood had far too much power, she had decided upon getting there. Anyone who went against them was labeled as heretics and a bounty was put on their heads, their family, and friends took for all they had. People walked in fear beneath the Vampire Mayor, Vera Strauss. Gwendolyn had come into town with a bounty named Peter, a man who was supposed to be hanged until she heard his only crime was wishing to feed his starving son. A certain empathy was found within her, and she had elected to help him, coming to wonder how many more injustices she had helped to serve because of her lack of thought and nonchalant approach where she should have been critical. How many towns had she let rot because the leaders had snarled at her half-blood heritage, vampires mostly, and sent her running from it as quickly as possible. How many humans lived in fear of her when she could be helping them against tyranny.

Deadwood was where she decided to stop the cycle. It was in Deadwood that she ensured Vera saw her final sunrise after opening her coffin and letting the light spill in, it was after that she had carefully made her place in the delicate society, ensuring a human she liked, at the time it was Missy Henry who had stepped up. And she became Missy's Judge who looked for real injustices and wrote laws for the town. Gwendolyn was very good at her job. She kept the Roots in check, well enough to where no one could say anything against her, but their power was still there, and it was only because of them that she could stay in power without another Vampire challenging her. She never sentenced any of them to be hanged, but punishment always was brought down on them if they stepped out of line. She was not openly with the Renascence and she was sure to keep her alignments to herself, as she always was a quiet power, forever listening and waiting to say her final thoughts at the right moment. But it was obvious, Silverton was her town and it would be until she died.

Now it is Johnny Longgood who is Mayor, the 3rd one to be in power since Gwendolyn had come. And he was the mayor who had to keep the town in one piece upon the burning of Ersetu. it was not long after the Roots were run out of town, and Gwendolyn was able to fully shape it to her own wants.