Havok_Harbinger
Member
Sorry should Have Veda in for you by tomorrow night. Running a school, teaching four classes, and graduating 6 kids that had to retake a few tests is insane. Will be absolutely free soon though.
[Interest Check] The Land that Time Forgot
- Thread starter Red Shadow Claws
- Start date
Crasical
Member
Welp, let me write something down...By the way, since this is pre-Immaculate order, does that mean the Dragon-style martial arts are unavailable?
HIIAKA KILAUEA: The Girl in the Volcano
Motivation: Rule over the fully restored solar manse as a god-queen.
Caste: Earth
Concept: Young guardian of a Solar Manse.
Backstory: Hiiaku is the daughter of an old Earth-caste craftsman, one of the many Dragonblooded that maintain the machines that protect the land from the erosion of the Wyld. Hiaku and her family are members of a relatively young generation of dragonblooded custodians; who encourage the formation of cults devoted to them, ruling from the manses they maintain as gods. Hiiaku's family Manse is cited on a large volcano, a former factory devoted to the creation of Orichalcum.
Personality: Hiiaku knows little of the Anathema outside of stories, but years of repairing their machinery has left her curious about them and the rumors they are being reborn. Hiiaku is lustful and passionate, sometimes acting more like a Fire Aspect than Earth. Hiiaku considers mortals her inferior, and mandates tribute from them; However, she is very fond of her subjects. She hopes someday to use the fully repaired Manse to benefit her subjects, ruling over them as a benevolent diety.
HIIAKA KILAUEA: The Girl in the Volcano
Motivation: Rule over the fully restored solar manse as a god-queen.
Caste: Earth
Concept: Young guardian of a Solar Manse.
Backstory: Hiiaku is the daughter of an old Earth-caste craftsman, one of the many Dragonblooded that maintain the machines that protect the land from the erosion of the Wyld. Hiaku and her family are members of a relatively young generation of dragonblooded custodians; who encourage the formation of cults devoted to them, ruling from the manses they maintain as gods. Hiiaku's family Manse is cited on a large volcano, a former factory devoted to the creation of Orichalcum.
Personality: Hiiaku knows little of the Anathema outside of stories, but years of repairing their machinery has left her curious about them and the rumors they are being reborn. Hiiaku is lustful and passionate, sometimes acting more like a Fire Aspect than Earth. Hiiaku considers mortals her inferior, and mandates tribute from them; However, she is very fond of her subjects. She hopes someday to use the fully repaired Manse to benefit her subjects, ruling over them as a benevolent diety.
MrSerious
Posting Addict
Are you sticking with the standard 'Casteless' rules for Chimeraism? Its' very likely that since it may be some time before the rescue party turns up to tattoo Lunars' Children and none of the newly Exalted have any clue as to the dangers inherent in their condition.
Tabby
Derpsichord
Ok uh status update, clusterfuck of calc homework+quiz prep so I didnt' get him done this weekend 
I have tomorrow free after classes though and I finally figured out how I want to write his backstory though so should be up, at least rough, on monday!
I have tomorrow free after classes though and I finally figured out how I want to write his backstory though so should be up, at least rough, on monday!
tacolicious
Junior Member
go away for a couple of days and it blows out from one page to 6. Thought i had missed recruitment.
Will Probably go a DB who is an Officer of a small Wyld extermination team. Golden Janissary and the spear of his soul fights that which breaks through the wards.
Will Probably go a DB who is an Officer of a small Wyld extermination team. Golden Janissary and the spear of his soul fights that which breaks through the wards.
Tabby
Derpsichord
OK I'm about 80-90% done with bio, mostly just working on tidying up the profile proper. Posting the unfinished just in case selections are like TODAY, but I'll be editing it a ton to get it up to my usual standards. Never been any good at bios, and my tendency to try every new one in a different style or perspective doesn't help - suffice it to say that while this bio is representative, I'm not 100% happy with some of my stylistic choices and may rewrite it. Basic backstory info and such will stay constant, it'd just be from a different perspective or something. IF I rewrite it anyways.
-----------------------------------------
Name: Trevor/Julius Serdic
Caste: Fiend
Quote: "Alright, look. If you keep struggling, you're going to draw attention, and I'm going to have to kill some servant girl who could have survived tonight if you hadn't been a selfish bitch. Now hold still, and you'll be the only one who has to die tonight in Her name. And for the Elemental Dragon's sake, stop bleeding all over my shoes."
Intimacies:
Urge: Return She Who Lives In Her Name to power
Motivation: Return She Who Lives In Her Name to her former perfection.
(Nearly identical to his Urge, and strictly speaking he acts on his Motivation rather than his Urge - he wishes to bring her back in her former perfection rather than in her current state, whereas She Who Lives doesn't care in the least. The difference is that Trevor feels that she could more fittingly rule if restored to her pristine state and sanity, though he will claim that he's acting on the urge. In his mind, one and the other are inextricably linked - working for one, to him, means the same thing as working on the other.)
Biography:
The tortured, verdegris-encrusted layers of Malfeas shuddered around her, the eruption of flaming sparks dying down as quickly as it had come. The ringing of the Ember of Perfection upon forge persisted a moment longer, but it too was soon swallowed by the dimness. The hammer rose again, the reaction automatic rather than consciously considered, and fell mercilessly once more upon the black metal in another shower of molten fire. It was all automatic reflex; the Keeper of the Forge of Night did not need to worry about hitting her thumb. Her mind was elsewhere entirely, still focused on the unassuming little diary that had recently come into her possession. For "safekeeping," he'd said. As if anyone was going to go wandering around an Infernal Exalted's room, find his diary, and mock him for writing about how he liked some mere slip of a girl, a mortal singer or something. Not that she knew anything about mortal singers, but it seemed like the sort of completely ridiculous thing that he'd be into.
Put bluntly, she suspected there was more at work - Trevor was a fool in some ways and imperfect in most of the ways that mattered, but at least he had some modicum of common sense; a rarity in a world that had betrayed and butchered its rightful masters and now lay wallowing in its own failure. Beset within and without with corruption, madness, and sickness, soon to fall prey to the Reclamation. Ugh. She focused on bringing the massive hammer down once more, the resounding clanging helping to focus her mind once more. Regardless. It didn't make much sense to leave the stupid book with her in the first place. The Conventicle Malfeasant wasn't really something that one "broke into," so the book would have been perfectly safe there, even from other Infernals. It didn't even have any useful spells - or any spells at all - or enchantments. It was just a book. One from the mortal world, which had made it even more curious; what part of that flawed, failed experiment had been so valuable as to value over belongings from Malfeas?
Nevertheless, she had agreed to safeguard it - he was at least tolerable at times and not entirely odious to hear talk in moderation, though he occasionally went over said limits of moderation by not shutting up - under the assumption that she could toss it in her sanctum, forget about it until he got back, then return it. Or forge it into something just to be contrary, but that was little more than a flight of fancy. When she gave her word, it was as law unto her. Her nature would not allow for any other way. The off-handed comment Trevor had made afterwards, though, had picqued enough curiosity to negender investigation. Alveua didn't remember the exact wording, but he'd said something along the lines of it being alright to read, or suggesting that she read it, before making one of his trademark exits. Which was to say that he disappeared the instant she looked away, like some hellish amalgamation of bat and man.
She didn't spend all her time crafting hellish wonders, of course, and within a few weeks had eventually gotten around to skimming it. Something about his manner had suggested that it had been more momentous to him than to her, though even having read it she wasn't entirely sure why. Apparently, good old Trevor had given her his journal like she was some sort of blasted secret-keeper or bank custodian. It hadn't even included recent events; it strictly chronicled his human life, which was a subject of minimal interest to a second-circle demon who wasn't a huge fan of humans in the first place. Nevertheless, against her own better judgement, she'd read it.
Unfortunately, it didn't turn out to be particularly interesting, in and of itself. Boring human life as the son of some completely irrelevant nobility in an area so remote and minor that even the writer realized how little it mattered in the grand scheme of things. Alveua could empathize - as far as an entirely inhuman creature could - with having one's hands tied, aware of the futility of something but unable to change. That sentiment had certainly been expressed in his journal, combined with his awareness of how pointless their tiny "kingdom" had been; she was vaguely familiar with the Hundred Kingdoms area, but for one of those kingdoms to be so irrelevant that even its own prince knew that? She could barely begin to conceive of the notion. Malfeas was her home, the Ebon Dragon her master, and that was that. Her work contributed to the reclamation, and her very existence comprised a facet of her sire Erembour. They were all constants, all valuable, all worth working, living, and dying for.
Fire lit the area once more, drowning out the dull emerald hue of the stars above in crimson and scarlet before fading into the swirling shadows at her feet once more. Alveua smiled, just a thin quirk of the lips. To hear that Trevor had gravitated towards information while his brother - whose name she hadn't seen early in the book, despite being mentioned constantly - had actually been more fit for royalty wasn't particularly surprising. Even as he was now, the newborn Infernal wouldn't have been her first choice for a dark overlord; he certainly generally held himself with a certain degree of poise, which was enough of a rarity in Malfeas itself, much less the mortal world, and he could channel deadly seriousness in bursts as needed, but his more natural state seemed to be more laid back, not to mention less serious. A king who could go from ramroad straight to lounging around haphazardly would be a sorry sight indeed. Not that it stopped him from occasionally putting on royal airs and playing his imaginary role to the hilt, but his performances were often so overdone as to be unintentionally hilarious. Or perhaps it was intentional It was sometimes hard to tell how seriously he took himself.
Yet they had both been princes, and both groomed for the crown. Such as it was. The part that bugged her wasn't any of that, or indeed even anything in the journal proper. Yes, he'd been a bit of an idiot, yes he'd failed to protect his family from the usurpers, yes they'd all died. Unfortunate, but about par for the course for an Infernal's exaltation; they generally exalted after miserable failure, whether from a detached perspective or a personal one. There was no way that a mortal could have fought off such a well-coordinated assault on a lightly-defended compound like that in the first place, but if he wanted to blame himself, more power to him. At least it seemed that Trevor had eventually realized the futility of the exercise in recrimination, showcasing a delightful degree of pragmatism in some of the later pages of the book - Alveua suspected that the last third or so had been written after exaltation and significant reflection, given the drastic change in tone.
Which brought her to her current dilemma. Yes, a tragic backstory was vaguely interesting, though not surprising given how flawed the mortal world currently was. That wasn't why he had given it to her. She was sure of that, though she couldn't quite quantify why. Trevor was not the sort to look for pity, and some of his comments later on in the book had cemented that line of reasoning; he was far from proud of his past, but considered it an integral part of his background, something that had shaped him but no longer defined him. Besides, if he'd just wanted attention, he could have found some neomah and had his way with it. He hadn't really even seemed to care if she read it, per se. Yes, he'd said that it was alright if she did, but there had been no real request, no hidden sense of urgency or subtle plea. Apparently, it had been more important that she have it than that she understand it. Probably just an irrational human action from an Infernal that had yet to grasp the realities of his new situation.
At the same time, she had a vague feeling of unease, brought on by his parting comment. Truth be told, she didn't particularly remember the exact wording of it, either, only that Ouroboros's taint had infused it, poisoned it with truth that she knew not, that perhaps Trevor himself knew not. Not that the damned snake ever had anyone else's best interests in mind - for all that he was the progeny of She Who Lives In Her Name, Alveua was of the private opinion that the stupid thing could just as well have been the Ebon Dragon's understudy in singular self-interest and dishonesty. Apparently the demon had retained a vast portion of his consciousness while fusing with Trevor, an abnormally large amount. Curiously enough, he seemed to have retained much of his body as well, given Trevor's ability to manifest Ouroboros in his natural form. Anyways, the wording had been strange, and she wasn't certain that it had been Trevor talking in the first place.
Personality:
Saying that Trevor is a pretty cool dude (who doesn't afraid of anything) for an Infernal is to completely miss the complex byplay behind the scenes between his component parts, his Infernal nature influencing and altering his humanity and empathy every bit as much as that humanity decides how he acts as an Infernal. There is no hidden demonic side - other than the giant demonic snake currently coexisting in his body, but who's counting - hidden in the recesses of his mind to come to light, no clear distinction between Trevor and Infernal, and most importantly, no clash at all in his mind. He can be kind, and he can be cruel, but it is never a breach of character or a personality inversion - both are equally him, two sides of the same coin.
He is, first and foremost, an Infernal. While not a particularly vindictive one, or indeed unnecessarily unpleasant in the least outside of an occasionally-grating personality, he is an Infernal. While Trevor generally acts in manners calculated to not bring attention to that, and he is a fairly easy-going type, he is a servant of the Yozis, a dread champion of She Who Lives in Her Name, loyal beyond Yozi mind control or Infernal nature.
She Who Lives In Her Name saved him. She saw value in what he could become and gave him the strength to become something more, strength of character as much as anything physical or mystical, and it is by far the former upon which Trevor's tremendous loyalty hinges. He is, needless to say, quite satisfied with the rest of his gifts and they alone would constitute a solid basis for a certain level of loyalty, given that he has a tendency to take debts of any sort very seriously.
Trevor sees all those charms and endowments and artifacts as aftereffects at best. To be made so much more than what he was, to be given the courage and dedication to better himself, intertwined with the awakening of what qualities he had already had but suppressed through his own weakness - it is that which comprises the foundation of his loyalty to his dread master and cements it evermore. He is legitimately and naturally grateful and loyal to his patron Yozi, as a man, not as an Infernal. There are no darker undertones; his love is neither romantic nor tainted in jealousy or bitterness, the effect of unnatural mental influence or duress. That is not to say that he is unique as an Infernal just because he happens to be loyal to his patron Yozi, but it frames his outlook on life and personality in terms perhaps somewhat differently from many, Infernal and Celestial exalts alike.
He was not the strongest of mortals. Trevor can admit that to himself, though he isn't proud of it. No one would be, or indeed could be proud of their past selves when they realize how inherently flawed and cowardly they were. For as relatively good as his life as a mortal was, it was all the more shameful to him that he continued to be a coward, willing to let his older brother shoulder the brunt of more difficult situations. In the flawless clarity of hindsight, it makes all the more sense that his own weakness was what held him back and propelled his brother forward in his parents' estimations, rather than some hidden agenda or hatefulness on their part. He doesn't hold a grudge. He doesn't blame them, nor would he even have harsh words for them.
It took a lot longer to come to terms with it, but neither does he hate himself for it. Perhaps it was some hidden wellspring of maturity waiting to be unleashed, or more likely his existence as an Infernal Exalt just gave him the necessary viewpoint to see things from a more fitting perspective, but while he is far from proud of his past self, Trevor recognizes that he was indeed once that way, and could still be that way were it not for the acts of his patron and his own gradual realizations along the way. He now sees that past as a learning experience - a brutal, cold pathway along which he had to tread to become what he was today. Not something to be ashamed of, to mope uselessly about, but valuable experiences to learn from that he might never repeat those mistakes.
He's even mostly convinced himself that vengeance is a fool's errand and not worth even investigating, though a part of him suspects that it is much easier to tell himself that now than it will be if events ever come to pass that he might get a chance to right that wrong.
While there's no particular hidden emotional shadow to draw a superpowered evil side from, Trevor does have a fair bit of experience in being an Infernal Exalt, and this after a lifetime of being inured to the suffering of others as a budding noble! The two combine fantastically well to ensure that if shit hits the fan, he has no qualms whatsoever in ensuring that the blood covering every square inch of himself and his surroundings is not his own. He has excellent self control and tends towards judicious application of subtler approaches wherever possible - not out of cowardice or hatred of violence, but rather out of a preference to minimize collateral damage and not ruin more of his patron's soon-to-be returning domain - but if he deems it necessary to turn towards violence, Trevor is quite happy to turn a perfectly pleasant establishment into a holocaust of gore and body parts.
It also serves a double purpose in getting Ouroboros to shut the hell up for ten goddamn seconds, which is in itself arguably a valid excuse for violence. The Infernal tends to prefer that his unwoven coadjugator take out said demon's general like of ruining people's days on birds and pets rather than people, partially due to the general fact that people get less bent out of shape about a missing cat than a missing mayor, and partially out of a general mistrust and dislike of birds - it really only takes being bird-bombed once to nurture a certain degree of mutual dislike, though it's nowhere near hatred; he just isn't really a fan.
As is pretty much standard for Exalts everywhere, working through past trauma is no guarantee that there won't be plenty more issues waiting around the corner to ruin your day, and Trevor has gotten quite an interesting crash course on just how fun and exciting some of those issues can be. Sharing a mind with an omnicidal snake-monster thing with a tendency to be hungry for the flesh and essence of living beings, specifically humans, wasn't quite what he expected when he signed up - but symbiotic relationships, as he quickly learned, are an incessant tug of war, a give-and-take between two equally-dominant personalities sharing limited faculties while occasionally having drastically different priorities.
They are both useful to each other in differing ways, and their relationship has only strengthened with time; Ouroboros bears certain similarities to the Ebon Dragon in that he can generally be trusted to have his own best interests in mind rather than acting out of actual munificence, but if one remembers that, he is in his own way trustworthy. They bear a certain degree of respect for each other, as well as a shared priority in ensuring that their shared body doesn't meet a grisly end. Trevor is not overly fond of his companion's general bloodlust, but he can empathize to a certain degree. More importantly, he gets good use out of Ouroboros's encyclopediac knowledge of all things Malfeas, as well as occasional vitriolic commentary on events and persons of interest, whether in Malfeas or Creation proper. The demon has a viciously sharp mind, its intelligence often obscured to a degree by his apparent one-dimensional bloodlust; it took the Infernal some time to realize it, but doing so picqued Ouroboros's interest enough to confide somewhat more in his new companion.
In the few years since, they have metally sparred time and time again, each finding someone worth conversing with in a world with entirely too few mortals or exalts deserving that description - while Trevor lacks the vast life experience of the demon and suffers from a different core perspective on things due to his nature, his mind too has always been exceedingly sharp, and that was only amplified by his ascension to infernal glory. With as much information as he has at his fingertips, he has a tendency to occasionally slip into irrelevance, but an inquiring mind always pushes him back onto track. He absorbs information like a sponge, for no more complex or devious reason than to know it.
In order to maintain his tight emotional control, Trevor has been forced to find conduits by which to expunge much of Ouroboros's effect on his mind as well as his own anger; he tends to cope with difficult solutions via dry or sarcastic humor, as well as more subtly ruining someone else's day, feeding his nascent sadistic tendencies and Ouroboros's both by causing emotional distress. He sees it as less destructive than just killing people, and therefore much less of an issue for people to deal with. His sense of humor tends to be less outright destructive so much as needling comments with a tendency to be obnoxiously accurate, gleaned by utilizing his uncanny natural ability to discern motivations through conversation alongside his loaned Fiend abilities, though how frustrated he is that particular day influence just how cutting his remarks are. On most days, Trevor's jokes never go beyond neutrally amusing, sometimes even positive messages or forward nudges... couched in invective.
Behavior:
Many masks, but one face
-It can be remarkably difficult to tell when he's serious at times; his tendency for a blatantly sarcastic tone or incessant mockery often persists even when he's being up-front with something. It can be similarly difficult to tell if he's just hamming it up or actually mocking someone at times, though when in question, it's generally the former - if his commentary isn't too vicious, he's probably just screwing around.
-When he is serious though, generally in tenser situations, he tends to stay that way as long as necessary. A serious Trevor, while still the same person, tends to take a 180 in displayed personality; raised once by nobility and educated more in the Demon City of Malfeas, he is entirely capable of atrocities beyond measure in the name of his master and his goals, but constantly makes a consistent and blatant degree of effort to minimize civilian casualties and unnecessary damage; while it isn't an exploitable weakness or a deep-rooted psychosis, he just doesn't see a point in making Creation an even shittier place than it already is while bereft of his master's guidance. Why not try to make it a world more amenable to his master's return, then, somewhere where he can spread Her word and maybe drum up a few cults here and there from people he's saved? He doesn't actually look at it quite that pragmatically - it's more of a natural thing, guidelines that simply define how he interacts with the world rather than a complex system of ideology, but truth nonetheless.
-He interchangeably responds to and gives out both Trevor and Julius as names by which to identify himself, though in Malfeas proper he consistently uses Trevor for simplicity. The divide between Trevor and Julius Serdic is couched in a lot less complexity than one would think if they were trying to figure out a coherent pattern behind which name he gives. No split personalities, no hidden evil sides, not even any real degree of pragmatism attached to it. The truth is simple: his brother may be dead, but by using the name, Trevor endeavors to keep his brother's memory alive. As the only Serdic heir left, he feels that he has to carry both his own load and that of his brother, to represent both of them to a world that neither knows nor cares about the difference anymore. He doesn't have any delusions about his brother living on inside him, but feels that using the name is a sign of respect.
-----------------------------------------
Name: Trevor/Julius Serdic
Caste: Fiend
Quote: "Alright, look. If you keep struggling, you're going to draw attention, and I'm going to have to kill some servant girl who could have survived tonight if you hadn't been a selfish bitch. Now hold still, and you'll be the only one who has to die tonight in Her name. And for the Elemental Dragon's sake, stop bleeding all over my shoes."
Intimacies:
- She Who Lives In Her Name [Loyalty, Respect]
The relationship is pretty one-sided; she's a freaking Yozi and not exactly a fan of free will in the first place. That hasn't stopped him from developing a tremendous amount of respect for her and her ideals, as well as loyalty and a determination to return her to her former glory... or perhaps even more. His loyalty is specifically to her rather than the Reclamation as a whole, though he works for it, for the time being, being that it is her will that he do so.
- Ouroboros [bonded Symbiote, Understanding]
Their relationship is very give-and-take, different sets of priorities clashing as they continue to learn to meld with the others style. As unwoven coadjugator and Infernal they have certain responsibilities towards each other and their masters; Ouroboros's unique status as more of a bonded symbiote than a properly dissolved consciousness, along with his almost entirely retained self, has led to a more equal and mutually beneficial relationship than would be possible with a properly diffused coadjugator. They have a certain degree of mutual understanding made possible only by their linked consciousnesses inhabiting Trevor's body.
- Alveua, Keeper of the Forge of Night [Respect, Trust, Affection]
Trevor trusts Alveua. Unusual for an Infernal, but certain similarities in their ideals lead to a mutual understanding that has grown closer to a legitimate friendship, at least as far as two vastly imperfect and in one case exceptionally inhuman beings can go in that direction. While his viewpoint is more human emotion, her being one of the few beings in Malfeas that he actually trusts has led to him spending more time with her, and she at least tolerates it. Exactly how one-sided the intimacy is? That's for her to tell.
- Marianne [Trolling]
Well, there is some degree of brutal pragmatism in there - not only is she an extremely useful informant in a new world about which he has no real information, but as a newly-exalted Solar who trusts him for whatever the hell reason, she's also a useful tool. Who wouldn't want a Solar bodyguard?
Seriously though, it's mostly just that she's way too much fun to tease, things just kinda happened without him planning them out in the least, and the paragraph above is basically the justification he'd give if brought to task for it by his boss. He's pretty fond of the little servant girl.
Urge: Return She Who Lives In Her Name to power
Motivation: Return She Who Lives In Her Name to her former perfection.
(Nearly identical to his Urge, and strictly speaking he acts on his Motivation rather than his Urge - he wishes to bring her back in her former perfection rather than in her current state, whereas She Who Lives doesn't care in the least. The difference is that Trevor feels that she could more fittingly rule if restored to her pristine state and sanity, though he will claim that he's acting on the urge. In his mind, one and the other are inextricably linked - working for one, to him, means the same thing as working on the other.)
Biography:
The tortured, verdegris-encrusted layers of Malfeas shuddered around her, the eruption of flaming sparks dying down as quickly as it had come. The ringing of the Ember of Perfection upon forge persisted a moment longer, but it too was soon swallowed by the dimness. The hammer rose again, the reaction automatic rather than consciously considered, and fell mercilessly once more upon the black metal in another shower of molten fire. It was all automatic reflex; the Keeper of the Forge of Night did not need to worry about hitting her thumb. Her mind was elsewhere entirely, still focused on the unassuming little diary that had recently come into her possession. For "safekeeping," he'd said. As if anyone was going to go wandering around an Infernal Exalted's room, find his diary, and mock him for writing about how he liked some mere slip of a girl, a mortal singer or something. Not that she knew anything about mortal singers, but it seemed like the sort of completely ridiculous thing that he'd be into.
Put bluntly, she suspected there was more at work - Trevor was a fool in some ways and imperfect in most of the ways that mattered, but at least he had some modicum of common sense; a rarity in a world that had betrayed and butchered its rightful masters and now lay wallowing in its own failure. Beset within and without with corruption, madness, and sickness, soon to fall prey to the Reclamation. Ugh. She focused on bringing the massive hammer down once more, the resounding clanging helping to focus her mind once more. Regardless. It didn't make much sense to leave the stupid book with her in the first place. The Conventicle Malfeasant wasn't really something that one "broke into," so the book would have been perfectly safe there, even from other Infernals. It didn't even have any useful spells - or any spells at all - or enchantments. It was just a book. One from the mortal world, which had made it even more curious; what part of that flawed, failed experiment had been so valuable as to value over belongings from Malfeas?
Nevertheless, she had agreed to safeguard it - he was at least tolerable at times and not entirely odious to hear talk in moderation, though he occasionally went over said limits of moderation by not shutting up - under the assumption that she could toss it in her sanctum, forget about it until he got back, then return it. Or forge it into something just to be contrary, but that was little more than a flight of fancy. When she gave her word, it was as law unto her. Her nature would not allow for any other way. The off-handed comment Trevor had made afterwards, though, had picqued enough curiosity to negender investigation. Alveua didn't remember the exact wording, but he'd said something along the lines of it being alright to read, or suggesting that she read it, before making one of his trademark exits. Which was to say that he disappeared the instant she looked away, like some hellish amalgamation of bat and man.
She didn't spend all her time crafting hellish wonders, of course, and within a few weeks had eventually gotten around to skimming it. Something about his manner had suggested that it had been more momentous to him than to her, though even having read it she wasn't entirely sure why. Apparently, good old Trevor had given her his journal like she was some sort of blasted secret-keeper or bank custodian. It hadn't even included recent events; it strictly chronicled his human life, which was a subject of minimal interest to a second-circle demon who wasn't a huge fan of humans in the first place. Nevertheless, against her own better judgement, she'd read it.
Unfortunately, it didn't turn out to be particularly interesting, in and of itself. Boring human life as the son of some completely irrelevant nobility in an area so remote and minor that even the writer realized how little it mattered in the grand scheme of things. Alveua could empathize - as far as an entirely inhuman creature could - with having one's hands tied, aware of the futility of something but unable to change. That sentiment had certainly been expressed in his journal, combined with his awareness of how pointless their tiny "kingdom" had been; she was vaguely familiar with the Hundred Kingdoms area, but for one of those kingdoms to be so irrelevant that even its own prince knew that? She could barely begin to conceive of the notion. Malfeas was her home, the Ebon Dragon her master, and that was that. Her work contributed to the reclamation, and her very existence comprised a facet of her sire Erembour. They were all constants, all valuable, all worth working, living, and dying for.
Fire lit the area once more, drowning out the dull emerald hue of the stars above in crimson and scarlet before fading into the swirling shadows at her feet once more. Alveua smiled, just a thin quirk of the lips. To hear that Trevor had gravitated towards information while his brother - whose name she hadn't seen early in the book, despite being mentioned constantly - had actually been more fit for royalty wasn't particularly surprising. Even as he was now, the newborn Infernal wouldn't have been her first choice for a dark overlord; he certainly generally held himself with a certain degree of poise, which was enough of a rarity in Malfeas itself, much less the mortal world, and he could channel deadly seriousness in bursts as needed, but his more natural state seemed to be more laid back, not to mention less serious. A king who could go from ramroad straight to lounging around haphazardly would be a sorry sight indeed. Not that it stopped him from occasionally putting on royal airs and playing his imaginary role to the hilt, but his performances were often so overdone as to be unintentionally hilarious. Or perhaps it was intentional It was sometimes hard to tell how seriously he took himself.
Yet they had both been princes, and both groomed for the crown. Such as it was. The part that bugged her wasn't any of that, or indeed even anything in the journal proper. Yes, he'd been a bit of an idiot, yes he'd failed to protect his family from the usurpers, yes they'd all died. Unfortunate, but about par for the course for an Infernal's exaltation; they generally exalted after miserable failure, whether from a detached perspective or a personal one. There was no way that a mortal could have fought off such a well-coordinated assault on a lightly-defended compound like that in the first place, but if he wanted to blame himself, more power to him. At least it seemed that Trevor had eventually realized the futility of the exercise in recrimination, showcasing a delightful degree of pragmatism in some of the later pages of the book - Alveua suspected that the last third or so had been written after exaltation and significant reflection, given the drastic change in tone.
Which brought her to her current dilemma. Yes, a tragic backstory was vaguely interesting, though not surprising given how flawed the mortal world currently was. That wasn't why he had given it to her. She was sure of that, though she couldn't quite quantify why. Trevor was not the sort to look for pity, and some of his comments later on in the book had cemented that line of reasoning; he was far from proud of his past, but considered it an integral part of his background, something that had shaped him but no longer defined him. Besides, if he'd just wanted attention, he could have found some neomah and had his way with it. He hadn't really even seemed to care if she read it, per se. Yes, he'd said that it was alright if she did, but there had been no real request, no hidden sense of urgency or subtle plea. Apparently, it had been more important that she have it than that she understand it. Probably just an irrational human action from an Infernal that had yet to grasp the realities of his new situation.
At the same time, she had a vague feeling of unease, brought on by his parting comment. Truth be told, she didn't particularly remember the exact wording of it, either, only that Ouroboros's taint had infused it, poisoned it with truth that she knew not, that perhaps Trevor himself knew not. Not that the damned snake ever had anyone else's best interests in mind - for all that he was the progeny of She Who Lives In Her Name, Alveua was of the private opinion that the stupid thing could just as well have been the Ebon Dragon's understudy in singular self-interest and dishonesty. Apparently the demon had retained a vast portion of his consciousness while fusing with Trevor, an abnormally large amount. Curiously enough, he seemed to have retained much of his body as well, given Trevor's ability to manifest Ouroboros in his natural form. Anyways, the wording had been strange, and she wasn't certain that it had been Trevor talking in the first place.
Personality:
Saying that Trevor is a pretty cool dude (who doesn't afraid of anything) for an Infernal is to completely miss the complex byplay behind the scenes between his component parts, his Infernal nature influencing and altering his humanity and empathy every bit as much as that humanity decides how he acts as an Infernal. There is no hidden demonic side - other than the giant demonic snake currently coexisting in his body, but who's counting - hidden in the recesses of his mind to come to light, no clear distinction between Trevor and Infernal, and most importantly, no clash at all in his mind. He can be kind, and he can be cruel, but it is never a breach of character or a personality inversion - both are equally him, two sides of the same coin.
He is, first and foremost, an Infernal. While not a particularly vindictive one, or indeed unnecessarily unpleasant in the least outside of an occasionally-grating personality, he is an Infernal. While Trevor generally acts in manners calculated to not bring attention to that, and he is a fairly easy-going type, he is a servant of the Yozis, a dread champion of She Who Lives in Her Name, loyal beyond Yozi mind control or Infernal nature.
She Who Lives In Her Name saved him. She saw value in what he could become and gave him the strength to become something more, strength of character as much as anything physical or mystical, and it is by far the former upon which Trevor's tremendous loyalty hinges. He is, needless to say, quite satisfied with the rest of his gifts and they alone would constitute a solid basis for a certain level of loyalty, given that he has a tendency to take debts of any sort very seriously.
Trevor sees all those charms and endowments and artifacts as aftereffects at best. To be made so much more than what he was, to be given the courage and dedication to better himself, intertwined with the awakening of what qualities he had already had but suppressed through his own weakness - it is that which comprises the foundation of his loyalty to his dread master and cements it evermore. He is legitimately and naturally grateful and loyal to his patron Yozi, as a man, not as an Infernal. There are no darker undertones; his love is neither romantic nor tainted in jealousy or bitterness, the effect of unnatural mental influence or duress. That is not to say that he is unique as an Infernal just because he happens to be loyal to his patron Yozi, but it frames his outlook on life and personality in terms perhaps somewhat differently from many, Infernal and Celestial exalts alike.
He was not the strongest of mortals. Trevor can admit that to himself, though he isn't proud of it. No one would be, or indeed could be proud of their past selves when they realize how inherently flawed and cowardly they were. For as relatively good as his life as a mortal was, it was all the more shameful to him that he continued to be a coward, willing to let his older brother shoulder the brunt of more difficult situations. In the flawless clarity of hindsight, it makes all the more sense that his own weakness was what held him back and propelled his brother forward in his parents' estimations, rather than some hidden agenda or hatefulness on their part. He doesn't hold a grudge. He doesn't blame them, nor would he even have harsh words for them.
It took a lot longer to come to terms with it, but neither does he hate himself for it. Perhaps it was some hidden wellspring of maturity waiting to be unleashed, or more likely his existence as an Infernal Exalt just gave him the necessary viewpoint to see things from a more fitting perspective, but while he is far from proud of his past self, Trevor recognizes that he was indeed once that way, and could still be that way were it not for the acts of his patron and his own gradual realizations along the way. He now sees that past as a learning experience - a brutal, cold pathway along which he had to tread to become what he was today. Not something to be ashamed of, to mope uselessly about, but valuable experiences to learn from that he might never repeat those mistakes.
He's even mostly convinced himself that vengeance is a fool's errand and not worth even investigating, though a part of him suspects that it is much easier to tell himself that now than it will be if events ever come to pass that he might get a chance to right that wrong.
While there's no particular hidden emotional shadow to draw a superpowered evil side from, Trevor does have a fair bit of experience in being an Infernal Exalt, and this after a lifetime of being inured to the suffering of others as a budding noble! The two combine fantastically well to ensure that if shit hits the fan, he has no qualms whatsoever in ensuring that the blood covering every square inch of himself and his surroundings is not his own. He has excellent self control and tends towards judicious application of subtler approaches wherever possible - not out of cowardice or hatred of violence, but rather out of a preference to minimize collateral damage and not ruin more of his patron's soon-to-be returning domain - but if he deems it necessary to turn towards violence, Trevor is quite happy to turn a perfectly pleasant establishment into a holocaust of gore and body parts.
It also serves a double purpose in getting Ouroboros to shut the hell up for ten goddamn seconds, which is in itself arguably a valid excuse for violence. The Infernal tends to prefer that his unwoven coadjugator take out said demon's general like of ruining people's days on birds and pets rather than people, partially due to the general fact that people get less bent out of shape about a missing cat than a missing mayor, and partially out of a general mistrust and dislike of birds - it really only takes being bird-bombed once to nurture a certain degree of mutual dislike, though it's nowhere near hatred; he just isn't really a fan.
As is pretty much standard for Exalts everywhere, working through past trauma is no guarantee that there won't be plenty more issues waiting around the corner to ruin your day, and Trevor has gotten quite an interesting crash course on just how fun and exciting some of those issues can be. Sharing a mind with an omnicidal snake-monster thing with a tendency to be hungry for the flesh and essence of living beings, specifically humans, wasn't quite what he expected when he signed up - but symbiotic relationships, as he quickly learned, are an incessant tug of war, a give-and-take between two equally-dominant personalities sharing limited faculties while occasionally having drastically different priorities.
They are both useful to each other in differing ways, and their relationship has only strengthened with time; Ouroboros bears certain similarities to the Ebon Dragon in that he can generally be trusted to have his own best interests in mind rather than acting out of actual munificence, but if one remembers that, he is in his own way trustworthy. They bear a certain degree of respect for each other, as well as a shared priority in ensuring that their shared body doesn't meet a grisly end. Trevor is not overly fond of his companion's general bloodlust, but he can empathize to a certain degree. More importantly, he gets good use out of Ouroboros's encyclopediac knowledge of all things Malfeas, as well as occasional vitriolic commentary on events and persons of interest, whether in Malfeas or Creation proper. The demon has a viciously sharp mind, its intelligence often obscured to a degree by his apparent one-dimensional bloodlust; it took the Infernal some time to realize it, but doing so picqued Ouroboros's interest enough to confide somewhat more in his new companion.
In the few years since, they have metally sparred time and time again, each finding someone worth conversing with in a world with entirely too few mortals or exalts deserving that description - while Trevor lacks the vast life experience of the demon and suffers from a different core perspective on things due to his nature, his mind too has always been exceedingly sharp, and that was only amplified by his ascension to infernal glory. With as much information as he has at his fingertips, he has a tendency to occasionally slip into irrelevance, but an inquiring mind always pushes him back onto track. He absorbs information like a sponge, for no more complex or devious reason than to know it.
In order to maintain his tight emotional control, Trevor has been forced to find conduits by which to expunge much of Ouroboros's effect on his mind as well as his own anger; he tends to cope with difficult solutions via dry or sarcastic humor, as well as more subtly ruining someone else's day, feeding his nascent sadistic tendencies and Ouroboros's both by causing emotional distress. He sees it as less destructive than just killing people, and therefore much less of an issue for people to deal with. His sense of humor tends to be less outright destructive so much as needling comments with a tendency to be obnoxiously accurate, gleaned by utilizing his uncanny natural ability to discern motivations through conversation alongside his loaned Fiend abilities, though how frustrated he is that particular day influence just how cutting his remarks are. On most days, Trevor's jokes never go beyond neutrally amusing, sometimes even positive messages or forward nudges... couched in invective.
Behavior:
Many masks, but one face
-It can be remarkably difficult to tell when he's serious at times; his tendency for a blatantly sarcastic tone or incessant mockery often persists even when he's being up-front with something. It can be similarly difficult to tell if he's just hamming it up or actually mocking someone at times, though when in question, it's generally the former - if his commentary isn't too vicious, he's probably just screwing around.
-When he is serious though, generally in tenser situations, he tends to stay that way as long as necessary. A serious Trevor, while still the same person, tends to take a 180 in displayed personality; raised once by nobility and educated more in the Demon City of Malfeas, he is entirely capable of atrocities beyond measure in the name of his master and his goals, but constantly makes a consistent and blatant degree of effort to minimize civilian casualties and unnecessary damage; while it isn't an exploitable weakness or a deep-rooted psychosis, he just doesn't see a point in making Creation an even shittier place than it already is while bereft of his master's guidance. Why not try to make it a world more amenable to his master's return, then, somewhere where he can spread Her word and maybe drum up a few cults here and there from people he's saved? He doesn't actually look at it quite that pragmatically - it's more of a natural thing, guidelines that simply define how he interacts with the world rather than a complex system of ideology, but truth nonetheless.
-He interchangeably responds to and gives out both Trevor and Julius as names by which to identify himself, though in Malfeas proper he consistently uses Trevor for simplicity. The divide between Trevor and Julius Serdic is couched in a lot less complexity than one would think if they were trying to figure out a coherent pattern behind which name he gives. No split personalities, no hidden evil sides, not even any real degree of pragmatism attached to it. The truth is simple: his brother may be dead, but by using the name, Trevor endeavors to keep his brother's memory alive. As the only Serdic heir left, he feels that he has to carry both his own load and that of his brother, to represent both of them to a world that neither knows nor cares about the difference anymore. He doesn't have any delusions about his brother living on inside him, but feels that using the name is a sign of respect.
Hoshiko
Kitty Redeemer
Here is my final background and character submission, now tweaked properly to fit the setting and proofread!
"Yes, may I help you, si- oh, by the dragons, I hope that's not food you're wasting. People are going hungry, y' know!"
Marianne's theme song
Solar Exalt-Night Caste
Name: Marianne Fowler
Nickname: -
Gender: Female
Age: 19
Player: Hoshiko
Concept: Idealistic servant.
Motivation: Erradicate poverty around the world.
Intimacies:
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Marianne giggled with childish glee as she bounced lightly on her father’s lap, the old, wooden chair squeaking ominously every time the young girl’s body came back down. Ariana exchanged a worried glance with her husband; they would have to scrounge up money for furniture the coming season again. A single lantern flickered lightly in the night breeze, its flame casting shadows across the small cottage; the barks of dogs were interrupted by sinister, chilling howls from time to time, yet they failed to bring anything more than a small spike of fear to the surface of her thoughts by now. A soft yowl was heard as Nibbles slipped into the house, her unkempt fur slightly damp from the misty air of the night. The small kitten mewled once more before jumping atop the man’s lap; his rough, calloused hands rose to brush the animal away, but hesitated. Aware of the opening, the vicious beast nuzzled the girl’s tiny hand, who delightedly hugged her pet close to herself. Bless the Exalted that kept her and her family safe at night; she had no idea what kind of things were out there, beyond the village’s borders, and had no desire to find out. She’d heard the stories, though…
“Mama, mama!†Almost as if on cue, her daughter’s voice rang out, interrupting her musings. “I wanna hear the story ‘bout the giant birds again!†Her expression settled into a soft, tender smile as she lowered the knife she had been polishing, and warmth seeped into her heart at the child’s innocent expression. She stood up, walking gracefully to the small shelf that held most of their belongings; carefully, she slipped the knife into the small jar at the very top, along with the others she used for her performances in town. The young woman knelt down, her fingers tickling the five-year-old’s sides, who squealed happily in response. “Y’ didn’t say please, sweetie. But it’s alright,†she said, standing up once more; her hands swept across the air in a grandiose gesture, causing the edges of her husband’s lips to quirk upwards into a smile. Her posture swiftly changed, subconsciously, as she prepared herself for the performance. After all, it didn’t matter whether it was before her family or an audience; both deserved her best effort. Marianne sat quietly, her daughter’s face a mask of rapt attention as she began her recital. “Once upon a time, long ago, beautiful wonders filled the world; people flew across cerulean skies atop majestic birds, leaving trails of stardust behind as they sailed on the wind…â€
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Marianne was born into the poverty that suffused her hometown’s slums. The village had somehow managed to survive amidst the sea of chaos that surrounded it; whether through sheer luck, or as a result of the Dragonblooded families’ constant vigilance, the town of Noru had evolved into a hospitable, if not exactly thriving location. Riches were unevenly distributed, with most of the proceeds from meager trade falling directly into Terrestrial hands; those unfortunate enough to not be part of their tightly-knit circles of family and friends were forced to eke out a living through either grueling work or petty crime.
Her family was one of the lucky ones to have a roof to call their own; the small cottage was barely large enough to shelter the three of them, and yet, Marianne still retains fond memories of the place she proudly called her home. Her mother, a performer, took it upon herself to educate her as best she could; often, this involved stories and legends of Ages past, tales of heroic deeds and marvelous crafts. Despite the artist’s best efforts, however, her education lacked the formality and bases people of higher classes receive under a teacher, and had quite a few holes. Her child would never be a scholar, but she passed on every skill she knew, hoping one of them could be the key she needed to forge herself a future. From acrobatics to knife-throwing, from weaving to storytelling, Marianne learned her mother’s teachings; if not with true talent, then with utmost determination and perseverance. Her father, a carpenter, attempted to teach her his craft as well; the young girl, however, could never grasp more of the art beyond the most rudimentary first steps.
As loving as her family was, they could not continue to support a third person indefinitely, particularly when the girl, and her appetite, began to grow. Shortly after her tenth birthday, her mother found her a job as a servant in Lord Aridion‘s manor as a scullery maid. The Dragonblooded household was large enough to require a vast array of employees; from tending the fires, to changing the sheets or finding the Lady’s lost earring again, there was never a shortage of work. Amidst tears and tantrums, she moved into the mansion and began the job that would define the coming nine years of her life.
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
“They’re dirty. I don’t care if the Raksha themselves walked into the kitchen, girl. See that? That’s grease.†The old cook pointed at a spot on a dish, her raspy voice grating on Marianne’s ears, who struggled to hold back tears. “You want to be a maid here? Fine. You get to work. Work from daybreak until the moment the last fire is put out. You’ve been here a year, and I’m tired of tolerating your incompetence.†The girl’s shoulders shook as she looked away, not wanting the old woman to see her eyes watering. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, girl. Stop crying, I’m too old to fall for your tricks. Now get back to work, or you’ll be on chamber pot duty again. I swear, brats these days are never taught anything. Must be the parents’ fault.†The woman set down the dish against the bucket once more, an expression of disgust on her face as she wiped her hands on her apron before limping away. Marianne directed one last, hateful stare at her retreating back before picking up the dish; for a moment, she considered smashing it, but it would only be taken out of her salary. Meager as it was, she couldn’t afford to let that happen.
Why did she have to leave home? She missed her mama and papa; the master’s children were older than her, and they still lived with their parents. Why couldn’t she do the same? Tears streamed down her cheeks as she got back to work, washing the dish again, the occasional sob escaping her. She needed revenge. She had to do something, anything; her chest felt as though it were on fire. Suddenly, her eyes lit up, and she turned to stare to her left; the area that was forbidden to her, where the food the masters ate was prepared every day by the crone. She just had to wait until it was left alone.
Her chance came shortly afterwards; the old woman left the kitchen, wincing as she began to climb the stairs to ask the Lady about the next day’s menu. She moved swiftly; carefully, she pulled out a small, wrapped handkerchief from her apron. She moved over to the pot closest to her; the one that contained the soup that would be served to the masters for their evening meal. Glancing around nervously to make sure nobody was watching her, she opened the small, bundled package; the small, dead body of a beetle occupied it. Not wanting to touch the animal, she shook the cloth until it fell into the pot, a satisfied smirk filling her face as she saw it sink and disappear beneath the thick broth. Just what she deserved!
Evening came quickly, and with it, dinner. Much more relaxed, Marianne performed exemplarily in her duties that night; even the cook was surprised, and grumpily commented that there “might be some hope for the girl, after all.†She almost felt guilty after hearing the older woman’s compliment, but she steeled her resolve; she deserved it, after what she had done earlier. Dinner was served, and she held her breath anxiously; not wanting to miss the scene, she slipped out of the manor, hiding amongst the shrubbery next to the dining room. She barely managed to restrain her giggles as the master screamed out, cursing loudly as he summoned the cook to the dining room. Her expression turned to horror, however, as she saw the master backhand the elderly woman before firing her; she begged hysterically, but he was adamant in his refusal to let her continue to work. Shaken, Marianne scurried away on her knees as quickly as she could, slipping into the tiny room allotted to her. Without bothering to change out of her uniform, she curled into her bed, hugging her pillow tightly as grief and guilt overcame her. What had she done? Nibbles poked her head from her spot beneath the bed, but even her gentle nuzzling proved unable to distract the girl away from her misery.
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Marianne spent her teenage years working in the manor; from sunrise to sunset, and deep into the night, she was expected to keep the kitchen clean and assist the cook with the preparations for the next day. From scrubbing the plates and pots, to chopping the vegetables the cook would use, and running any errands that needed done in town, she was asked to work harder than she had ever before. She still received free time to visit her parents from time to time, but the majority of her days were spent serving the master alongside the other staff members. The first year at the manor was a terrible experience for her; torn away from her home, and forced to earn a living by herself, she was overcome by grief and jealousy, and gained a reputation for being clumsy and slow. Her superior, a grumpy, elderly woman who had worked at the manor for nearly a decade, often tried to push her to apply herself to no avail. A year later, the cook was fired as a consequence of the girl’s actions; horrified by what she had wrought, Marianne applied herself more to her duties, trying to atone for her misdeed by making herself more useful around the kitchen. The new chef, a strict woman with a foul temper, worked her harder than her predecessor; as a reward for her efforts, however, she taught the girl to cook, hoping that perhaps the teenager would find a better job someday as a chef as well. Marianne learned the craft eagerly; soon she assisted with the cooking herself, or took over whenever the elder servant was not feeling well.
Though she meant well, her behavior was not without flaws; she sneaked away pieces of silverware and small trinkets whenever she could, selling them away in the slums to complement the pittance of a salary she was paid. As she rationalized it, she wasn’t doing anything really wrong; just redistributing the riches the master had accumulated thanks to their hard work. It was on one of those trips to her neighborhood that she realized what she really wanted to do; she wanted to eliminate this. The poverty, the suffering, the anger and jealousy at the higher classes; would they all exist if the people who lived here, where she had been born, all had enough money to eat, and a roof to sleep under? But, it was meaningless; even if she wished it, it was impossible for someone of her standing to make such a change in the world.
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Marianne walked down the market under the bright midday sun, a simple cloth bag filled halfway with vegetables held in the joint of her left elbow as she looked for the spice merchant. Funny, his stall was usually around here; her eyes wandered to her left, hoping to find the trademark turban the man wore on his head. She had to go back to the manor soon; Miss Bonnet wasn’t feeling well today, and it would fall on her to prepare the masters’ dinner. Again. Of course, they wouldn’t pay her any more for it, but she could consider taking a bit of extra payment for herself next week. Maybe that pretty vase in the guest room on the second floor; nobody ever used it, and they wouldn’t notice anything vanishing from it anyways. Besides, it wasn’t as if they needed it for something.
A small, sharp stab pain lanced from her left shoulder as she bumped into something; caught unaware, she wobbled in place before falling backwards, landing sitting on the dirt road. The pain was not really a concern; she was used to far worse, both from the harsh work at the manor and the harsh punishments than ensued when it wasn’t completed swiftly enough. The bag fell open at her side, and she hurried to pick up the carrot that had slipped out of it before slinging it over her unhurt shoulder. Pickpockets weren’t rare in the city, and the last thing she wanted was to pay for the master’s food from her own salary.
“Are you okay down there, miss?â€
Her ears perked up in surprise at the voice; yet, what was truly astounding was the hand outstretched to help her. She looked up at the man; he was dressed in fine clothing, as good as any she’d seen on the master’s son. He didn’t look too much older either; maybe in his early twenties? She shook her head, feeling her ears heat up a little; it wasn’t polite to stare at someone of higher rank. Still, he was offering help, and it would be rude to reject it. “Yes, thank you, sir,†she said softly; as she had been taught to do. She placed her hand atop his, using his strength as support to bring herself up. Brushing the excess dirt off her dress, she bowed deeply, eyes staring at the tip of his shoes. Polished, too; he must be a wealthy noble, indeed.
“That’s good. I thought I had broken something; you stared at that carrot for a while, and were muttering under your breath.†She sputtered an incoherent string of denials; her eyes widened, and she clapped both hands over her mouth; what if he was a guest, and told the master about her behavior? She’d be in for a punishment for sure. The man stared at her, a curious expression on his face as he tilted his head to the side. “Where are you from, anyways, miss?†His voice had a soft tone to it, and yet somehow seemed to command more power than any she had ever felt from the master. Maybe he was a lord, too? She lowered her hands timidly, holding them together before her as she performed another, shorter bow. “I’m from Lord Aridion’s manor, sir,†she said, giving him a small, fake smile. Short, and to the point; as she had been taught. Never say more than what you are asked for; that was one of the rules at the manor. The man clapped his hands together, a delighted expression crossing his face before she averted her eyes.
“My, how lucky! To think that I would meet a member of one the town’s noble families so quickly! Why, milady, it is a pleasure to meet you!†Her eyes widened as the man executed a flawless flourish and bowed deeply; she swallowed nervously, even as she felt her cheeks heat up. He had to be teasing her, right? She looked around; some of the people had stopped walking to stare at the strange man, which inevitably led to questioning stares towards her. Whatever was this person doing? Honestly, the amount of trouble she’d get into if word of this got back to the manor…She shuddered, and walked closer to the finely-dressed gentleman. “Please, sir, get up, people are staring at us!†The man’s head came up for a moment to stare at her, a cheeky grin plastered on his face as he spoke. “Ah, I have mistaken your rank.†She breathed out a sigh of relief as she placed a hand on her chest; now, all she had to do was make sure that gossip about this didn’t reach the mistress’ ears. “Forgive me, your highness, it won’t happen again.†To her horror, the man sunk to his knees, head bowed deeply; wasn’t this how people saluted royalty, or something like that? She stared in panic around her, flustered; some people were laughing nervously, while others gave her disapproving stares. Wait, it wasn’t her fault; why were they staring at –her- like that? They should be staring at him! She looked down at the man, panicked. “Get up! I, uh, I mean, please, sir…ah, heavens, just get up, darn it!†She fell silent, her expression a strange cross somewhere between a pleased smile and a mortified stare.
“Finally. I was starting to think they had found a way to turn pretty girls into dolls here, princess!†The man dusted his clothes off as he rose, yet it seemed to be only for show; not a single mote had adhered to the fine suit. She stared at him for a second longer, dumbfounded, as she tried to find her voice once more. “It’s, well, ah…†Her thoughts dwelled for a moment on the compliment, and she felt her heartbeat accelerate furiously; shaking her head again, she tried to place her thoughts in order, but the maelstrom of emotion inside of her refused to quiet down. “Well, how in the dragons’ name am I supposed to answer to that?†It was only a few seconds later that she realized she had blurted out the question; sighing in defeat, she resigned herself to her fate. The light accent of Low Realm speech, ever present in her words, grew stronger as she relaxed slightly. “They come pretty close. Would you consider not telling anyone ‘bout this, if you’re going to the manor?†The man winked cheekily once more as he spoke; somehow, he managed to sound gentle and sarcastic, all at the same time. “Sure thing, princess. Boy scout’s honor.â€
She tilted her head to the side, puzzled. What in the Wyld was a boy scout supposed to be? “My name is Trevor, by the way. Trevor Serdic.†He looked at her expectantly, and she realized he was waiting for her to answer. Would wonders never cease today? A nobleman who cared about her name! Maybe Nibbles would talk to her tonight; heavens knew the kitty was smart enough. “Mine’s Marianne…Marianne Fowler.†He stared at her for a moment longer, as if waiting for her to say something else. Wait, why did she feel like she had answered a question wrong? That was her name! The man’s hand rose to his chin, his eyes narrowing, appraising, a thoughtful expression filling his face for an instant before being released. “Nah. Princess suits you better.â€
Her eyes widened with indignation as she placed her hands on her hips, drawing herself up slightly. Oh, yes? Well, two could play this game! “So, what brings you to Noru, prince charming? Sightseeing?†She smiled smugly up at him, her own grin reflected back at her in the man’s expression. Shrugging in a mockery of defeat, he raised both hands to his sides as he shook his head. “Tut tut, wrong guess, princess. Tell you what. It’s past noon, and I’m starving. Show me to a good restaurant, and I’ll tell you over lunch. My treat,†he added, winking as he spoke the last two words. Marianne hesitated for a moment. Should she accept the offer? She really had to get back to the manor soon, or she wouldn’t have enough time to prepare dinner. Her eyes met Trevor’s, and she made her choice. How often did she meet a nobleman who invited her out to lunch? Never, that was how often. She smiled at him happily, nodding her head slightly. “Aight, follow me, then, I’m pretty hungry too. There’s no really fancy places ‘round here like the ones you might be used to, but the food is good!†Her voice had a slightly more cheerful tone to it near the end; she knew just the place. It was pretty close to the slums, but the cook there was excellent, even by Miss Bonnet’s standards.
She walked forwards, Trevor close on her trail as she turned right towards the closest alleyway. It was a lot more deserted than the main street, but also a lot faster than walking all the way around the market. They should arrive in no time; she could already taste the beef stew they cooked every other day, and felt her mouth start to water. She hadn’t eaten meat this week yet; it’d be a nice treat. Suddenly, she stopped; a flash of movement made her freeze in place as she turned her head towards the source. Four thugs, armed with clubs, stepped out of a door to the right, their movements slow and unsteady. Behind them, the opening showed a tavern filled with people talking; could the four of them be drunk at this time of the day? She stepped back fearfully, turning her head to warn Trevor away; her companion, however, was nowhere to be seen. How long had she been alone? Her hand slipped into her apron, fingering the knife that she always carried there; she had practiced what her mother had taught her of knife-throwing as often as she could at the manor. Maybe she could take out one of them, and run away in the confusion.
One of the brutes raised his hand, palm facing upwards, before speaking in a deep, rumbling voice that made her shake with fear. “Why, hello there, pretty girl.†What had been a compliment from Trevor felt greasy and slimy from the scum in front of her, and she glared at him, pulling out the knife as she let her groceries fall to the ground with a dull thud. The four drunkards laughed boisterously, and the same one, apparently their leader, spoke out again. “Look, boys, the girlie’s got some fight in her!†The three thugs behind him guffawed again, and she swallowed nervously, refusing to back down. She knew they’d attack the moment she showed them weakness; she had to wait for the right chance to run away. Without warning, a loud, cracking noise echoed across the narrow pathway; the third man’s face distorted gruesomely for a moment before he fell backwards, his limbs twisted at awkward angles. The remaining three looked at the corpse, dumbfounded; the two on the back attempted to run away, panicking as the leader shouted at their backs. Before they could reach the safety of the main street, however, their legs suddenly gave out, having been cut cleanly through by…something.
Marianne watched in morbid fascination, frozen in place, escape completely forgotten. Maybe it was the good luck charm she had bought last week; the housekeeper said it was a hokey one, but what did she know? The man turned towards her, nostrils flaring. “Witch! What did you do?†Roaring with anger, he rushed at her. Yet, instead of the terror she expected, she felt only anger at the beast in front of her. How many people had he killed? How many others had this band assaulted, just as they had her? How many people had suffered because of these monsters’ greed? No, she had to stop it. She –would- stop it. She focused, just as her mother had taught her; she needn’t be afraid of the knife, it was but a tool. Her eyes narrowed as she whipped her hand back, preparing for the throw, and she felt a golden, warm power suffuse her being. There was no uncertainty in her mind; this weapon would hit its target, and this man would never harm another innocent again. In a single, fluid motion, her knife flew out, its aim unerring. The man prepared to dodge; he would jump at her and pound the girl’s head in before she could do any more of her black magic. She felt the golden glow pulse, awaiting release; she opened herself to it, and countless knives filled the air, all identical to the one she had tossed. The man’s eyes widened in one final moment of terrible realization, his eyes focusing on the golden ring blazing proudly on her forehead before one of them embedded itself into his trachea, killing him instantly. The warmth seeped away from her body, and she fell to her knees, suddenly feeling weak and drained. Marianne brought her hand up to her mouth as she fought the urge to throw up what little she had taken for breakfast that morning. Was all that really blood? She shuddered as her eyes followed the viscous, scarlet liquid’s movement. A hand appeared in her field of vision, holding a handkerchief; she stared up into Trevor’s eyes, which reflected an eerie, golden light back at her.
“Why, princess! You never told me you were a magician, too!â€
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
The Exaltation came as a great surprise to her, yet not unwelcome. It was a chance to escape the life she had been bound to, and perhaps make a difference in the world. Tales of the Anathema, however, had reached even her ears; she feared discovery, and the trouble that would inevitably trail behind it. Following Trevor’s advice, she returned to the manor once more that same day. Carefully, she avoided the kitchen maid as she hastened to her room; a tiny cubicle with barely enough space for a bed. Nibbles poked her head out from beneath the covers, meowling curiously. She shushed the small kitty and rubbed her head softly before kneeling on the floor. With some effort, she pulled out from beneath the bed what was, perhaps, the only belonging she could truly call her own; a small leather pouch containing her savings, painstakingly earned and jealously guarded. Nine siu and a handful of yen were inside; she counted them to make sure none of it had vanished before pulling the drawstrings shut and tying it securely to her left hand.
Motioning for Nibbles to follow her, she moved outside slowly, hurrying past the kitchen before pausing. It was empty; the kitchen maid had vanished. Taking advantage of the chance, she snuck some of Miss Bonnet’s best knives into her apron. Wherever she was going, she reasoned it was bound to be dangerous. Taking care not to hurt herself, she walked outside as briskly as she dared to while carrying the utensils, and it was not until she was at Trevor’s side once more that she finally sighed in relief, relaxing. They left Noru together that night, Marianne’s mind troubled and drained, yet truly hopeful for the first time in years.
Marianne is an idealistic young woman born in the midst of poverty; she holds bright dreams, but also believes most of them to be unreachable after enduring the harshness of a low-class life in a town where people like her are considered unworthy of notice. As a result, she has grown jealous of people with better opportunities; noblemen, scholars and bureaucrats that waste their time idly, when they could be helping people with their resources, annoy her to no end. She dreams of a world not torn apart by inequity, where every mortal can have an equal chance to follow their heart; until her Exaltation, however, it was little more than a whisper spoken softly into her pillow every night before falling asleep. She has come to expect the worst out of every noble; she mentally writes off every person with rich clothing she meets as arrogant and lavish. It has proven pretty accurate, amongst the people she has met; only Trevor has failed to properly fit into the mold.
The former servant is stubborn and willful. Once an idea entrenches itself inside her mind, it is difficult to persuade her to abandon it. Her character caused her no end of trouble in her profession; after nine years of working as the manor’s scullion, however, she has learned to hide such thoughts away securely during work hours, presenting only the bland, subservient personality of the maid she’s expected to be. Rather than open rebellion, she has chosen the path of least resistance; objects mysteriously disappeared from the household on occasion, and seemingly unexplainable accidents seemed to happen to the lady’s dresses from time to time. Purloined goods supplemented the meager salary she was paid. After the incident she experienced during her first year of work, however, she made sure no other servants were ever blamed for her actions. To her mind, the masters had enough to live, and no need for the excess trinkets she pocketed from time to time. She empathizes with her former co-workers’ situation, however; piling still more trouble on their already burdened lives is contrary to her nature.
Marianne is curious and inquisitive. While not educated, she is eager to learn more of the world, particularly on topics related to the First Age; her mother’s stories, though vague, still imparted a sense of wonder to the girl, and a love for legends and myths. Though it embarrasses her, she is illiterate; her mother was far more concerned with teaching her skills that would allow her to survive in the city than fancy words and lessons on geography. Thus, she is quick to avoid situations that might reveal her lack of knowledge, and might lie or act to keep her secret from being exposed. She often struggles to balance this with her desire to learn; most of the time, however, it is the former which holds precedence, and she is more likely to pass on an opportunity than to admit to her perceived flaw. She only knows Low Realm; while High Realm was sometimes spoken around the manor, she was never exposed to it enough to learn it, and the slum accent is still noticeable in her voice should anyone care to look for it.
She is somewhat naive, and it is easy to gain her trust. While she is naturally careful around strangers, she’s easygoing and friendly towards those she perceives as non-threatening. Unfortunately, she is mistrustful of people she sees as members of the high-class; displays of jewelry and fine clothing are sure methods to arouse her suspicions and prejudices, and she’s quick to act out her role and be out of their way as soon as she can. In her eyes, they are nothing but trouble, and she has learned that limiting her interaction with them is a good way to stay out of it.
Cooking is an activity she enjoys greatly; she still has fond memories of her last years at home, when she helped her mother and father prepare dinner. She had always felt a special warmth and happiness from hearing them say her food was tasty, even if it had only consisted on boiled potatoes at the time. Preparing it for the masters was much less enjoyable. Whenever she had to cook for them, it meant Miss Bonnet, the head cook, had taken the day off, and she found it hard to avoid feeling resentment when she had to prepare luncheon in addition to her other chores. Nine years of working in the kitchens, however, honed her cooking skills to a high level, and she’s often happy to brag about them to others if given the chance.
Her Exaltation came as a very unexpected surprise; she still has some reservations about it actually having chosen the proper person, and considers it possible that the silly thing just was confused when it selected her. Still, she isn’t planning to complain any time soon; her admiration for the manor master’s abilities knew little bounds, as he was fond of displaying his control over fire before children to awe and entertain them. She only hopes that her own abilities might be strong enough eventually to rival those of a Dragonblooded like him, so that she can achieve her dream.
Marianne is but a few months past her nineteenth year; her features still retain a somewhat child-like appearance, if only slightly. While the chaos of the Wyld is kept at bay most of the time, it is inevitable for the taint to touch some of the children at birth, and she was not an exception. Her bright fuchsia hair and eyes differ from her parents’ own dull brown, and, though relatively insignificant, her ears’ appearance resembles the small horns of an owl. She displays them happily in public; while not exactly rampant, minor mutations are not so rare in the town of Noru that she has faced discrimination from any but the most bigoted of individuals. Her build is slim and lithe, though a little thinner than is probably healthy; her diet is not often consistent, and she has gone hungry from time to time when money was scarce, particularly as a child with her parents.
Her clothes are restricted to that which is appropriate for a servant; thus, other than a slightly dressier uniform given to employees by the manor for formal occasions, she usually wears simple, washed-out work clothes in dull tones. While she tries to take care of her appearance, her resources and time are limited, and it is far more common to see her running around town with her hair tied beneath a ragged scarf as she hurries to complete her errands. She envies the jewelry and finery worn by those of higher classes, but resolves to save up her meager income for meals instead, considering them to be far too expensive.
"Yes, may I help you, si- oh, by the dragons, I hope that's not food you're wasting. People are going hungry, y' know!"
Marianne's theme song
Solar Exalt-Night Caste
Name: Marianne Fowler
Nickname: -
Gender: Female
Age: 19
Player: Hoshiko
Concept: Idealistic servant.
Motivation: Erradicate poverty around the world.
Intimacies:
- Family - Marianne’s parents, still living in the slums of Noru.
Nibbles - Marianne’s familiar, a small grey cat.
Noru Slums – The slums of her hometown.
Trevor - As fiercely as she might argue with him at times, and despite how embarassing his teasing can be, she still views him as one of the very few people that truly care about her as a person.
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Marianne giggled with childish glee as she bounced lightly on her father’s lap, the old, wooden chair squeaking ominously every time the young girl’s body came back down. Ariana exchanged a worried glance with her husband; they would have to scrounge up money for furniture the coming season again. A single lantern flickered lightly in the night breeze, its flame casting shadows across the small cottage; the barks of dogs were interrupted by sinister, chilling howls from time to time, yet they failed to bring anything more than a small spike of fear to the surface of her thoughts by now. A soft yowl was heard as Nibbles slipped into the house, her unkempt fur slightly damp from the misty air of the night. The small kitten mewled once more before jumping atop the man’s lap; his rough, calloused hands rose to brush the animal away, but hesitated. Aware of the opening, the vicious beast nuzzled the girl’s tiny hand, who delightedly hugged her pet close to herself. Bless the Exalted that kept her and her family safe at night; she had no idea what kind of things were out there, beyond the village’s borders, and had no desire to find out. She’d heard the stories, though…
“Mama, mama!†Almost as if on cue, her daughter’s voice rang out, interrupting her musings. “I wanna hear the story ‘bout the giant birds again!†Her expression settled into a soft, tender smile as she lowered the knife she had been polishing, and warmth seeped into her heart at the child’s innocent expression. She stood up, walking gracefully to the small shelf that held most of their belongings; carefully, she slipped the knife into the small jar at the very top, along with the others she used for her performances in town. The young woman knelt down, her fingers tickling the five-year-old’s sides, who squealed happily in response. “Y’ didn’t say please, sweetie. But it’s alright,†she said, standing up once more; her hands swept across the air in a grandiose gesture, causing the edges of her husband’s lips to quirk upwards into a smile. Her posture swiftly changed, subconsciously, as she prepared herself for the performance. After all, it didn’t matter whether it was before her family or an audience; both deserved her best effort. Marianne sat quietly, her daughter’s face a mask of rapt attention as she began her recital. “Once upon a time, long ago, beautiful wonders filled the world; people flew across cerulean skies atop majestic birds, leaving trails of stardust behind as they sailed on the wind…â€
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Marianne was born into the poverty that suffused her hometown’s slums. The village had somehow managed to survive amidst the sea of chaos that surrounded it; whether through sheer luck, or as a result of the Dragonblooded families’ constant vigilance, the town of Noru had evolved into a hospitable, if not exactly thriving location. Riches were unevenly distributed, with most of the proceeds from meager trade falling directly into Terrestrial hands; those unfortunate enough to not be part of their tightly-knit circles of family and friends were forced to eke out a living through either grueling work or petty crime.
Her family was one of the lucky ones to have a roof to call their own; the small cottage was barely large enough to shelter the three of them, and yet, Marianne still retains fond memories of the place she proudly called her home. Her mother, a performer, took it upon herself to educate her as best she could; often, this involved stories and legends of Ages past, tales of heroic deeds and marvelous crafts. Despite the artist’s best efforts, however, her education lacked the formality and bases people of higher classes receive under a teacher, and had quite a few holes. Her child would never be a scholar, but she passed on every skill she knew, hoping one of them could be the key she needed to forge herself a future. From acrobatics to knife-throwing, from weaving to storytelling, Marianne learned her mother’s teachings; if not with true talent, then with utmost determination and perseverance. Her father, a carpenter, attempted to teach her his craft as well; the young girl, however, could never grasp more of the art beyond the most rudimentary first steps.
As loving as her family was, they could not continue to support a third person indefinitely, particularly when the girl, and her appetite, began to grow. Shortly after her tenth birthday, her mother found her a job as a servant in Lord Aridion‘s manor as a scullery maid. The Dragonblooded household was large enough to require a vast array of employees; from tending the fires, to changing the sheets or finding the Lady’s lost earring again, there was never a shortage of work. Amidst tears and tantrums, she moved into the mansion and began the job that would define the coming nine years of her life.
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
“They’re dirty. I don’t care if the Raksha themselves walked into the kitchen, girl. See that? That’s grease.†The old cook pointed at a spot on a dish, her raspy voice grating on Marianne’s ears, who struggled to hold back tears. “You want to be a maid here? Fine. You get to work. Work from daybreak until the moment the last fire is put out. You’ve been here a year, and I’m tired of tolerating your incompetence.†The girl’s shoulders shook as she looked away, not wanting the old woman to see her eyes watering. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, girl. Stop crying, I’m too old to fall for your tricks. Now get back to work, or you’ll be on chamber pot duty again. I swear, brats these days are never taught anything. Must be the parents’ fault.†The woman set down the dish against the bucket once more, an expression of disgust on her face as she wiped her hands on her apron before limping away. Marianne directed one last, hateful stare at her retreating back before picking up the dish; for a moment, she considered smashing it, but it would only be taken out of her salary. Meager as it was, she couldn’t afford to let that happen.
Why did she have to leave home? She missed her mama and papa; the master’s children were older than her, and they still lived with their parents. Why couldn’t she do the same? Tears streamed down her cheeks as she got back to work, washing the dish again, the occasional sob escaping her. She needed revenge. She had to do something, anything; her chest felt as though it were on fire. Suddenly, her eyes lit up, and she turned to stare to her left; the area that was forbidden to her, where the food the masters ate was prepared every day by the crone. She just had to wait until it was left alone.
Her chance came shortly afterwards; the old woman left the kitchen, wincing as she began to climb the stairs to ask the Lady about the next day’s menu. She moved swiftly; carefully, she pulled out a small, wrapped handkerchief from her apron. She moved over to the pot closest to her; the one that contained the soup that would be served to the masters for their evening meal. Glancing around nervously to make sure nobody was watching her, she opened the small, bundled package; the small, dead body of a beetle occupied it. Not wanting to touch the animal, she shook the cloth until it fell into the pot, a satisfied smirk filling her face as she saw it sink and disappear beneath the thick broth. Just what she deserved!
Evening came quickly, and with it, dinner. Much more relaxed, Marianne performed exemplarily in her duties that night; even the cook was surprised, and grumpily commented that there “might be some hope for the girl, after all.†She almost felt guilty after hearing the older woman’s compliment, but she steeled her resolve; she deserved it, after what she had done earlier. Dinner was served, and she held her breath anxiously; not wanting to miss the scene, she slipped out of the manor, hiding amongst the shrubbery next to the dining room. She barely managed to restrain her giggles as the master screamed out, cursing loudly as he summoned the cook to the dining room. Her expression turned to horror, however, as she saw the master backhand the elderly woman before firing her; she begged hysterically, but he was adamant in his refusal to let her continue to work. Shaken, Marianne scurried away on her knees as quickly as she could, slipping into the tiny room allotted to her. Without bothering to change out of her uniform, she curled into her bed, hugging her pillow tightly as grief and guilt overcame her. What had she done? Nibbles poked her head from her spot beneath the bed, but even her gentle nuzzling proved unable to distract the girl away from her misery.
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Marianne spent her teenage years working in the manor; from sunrise to sunset, and deep into the night, she was expected to keep the kitchen clean and assist the cook with the preparations for the next day. From scrubbing the plates and pots, to chopping the vegetables the cook would use, and running any errands that needed done in town, she was asked to work harder than she had ever before. She still received free time to visit her parents from time to time, but the majority of her days were spent serving the master alongside the other staff members. The first year at the manor was a terrible experience for her; torn away from her home, and forced to earn a living by herself, she was overcome by grief and jealousy, and gained a reputation for being clumsy and slow. Her superior, a grumpy, elderly woman who had worked at the manor for nearly a decade, often tried to push her to apply herself to no avail. A year later, the cook was fired as a consequence of the girl’s actions; horrified by what she had wrought, Marianne applied herself more to her duties, trying to atone for her misdeed by making herself more useful around the kitchen. The new chef, a strict woman with a foul temper, worked her harder than her predecessor; as a reward for her efforts, however, she taught the girl to cook, hoping that perhaps the teenager would find a better job someday as a chef as well. Marianne learned the craft eagerly; soon she assisted with the cooking herself, or took over whenever the elder servant was not feeling well.
Though she meant well, her behavior was not without flaws; she sneaked away pieces of silverware and small trinkets whenever she could, selling them away in the slums to complement the pittance of a salary she was paid. As she rationalized it, she wasn’t doing anything really wrong; just redistributing the riches the master had accumulated thanks to their hard work. It was on one of those trips to her neighborhood that she realized what she really wanted to do; she wanted to eliminate this. The poverty, the suffering, the anger and jealousy at the higher classes; would they all exist if the people who lived here, where she had been born, all had enough money to eat, and a roof to sleep under? But, it was meaningless; even if she wished it, it was impossible for someone of her standing to make such a change in the world.
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Marianne walked down the market under the bright midday sun, a simple cloth bag filled halfway with vegetables held in the joint of her left elbow as she looked for the spice merchant. Funny, his stall was usually around here; her eyes wandered to her left, hoping to find the trademark turban the man wore on his head. She had to go back to the manor soon; Miss Bonnet wasn’t feeling well today, and it would fall on her to prepare the masters’ dinner. Again. Of course, they wouldn’t pay her any more for it, but she could consider taking a bit of extra payment for herself next week. Maybe that pretty vase in the guest room on the second floor; nobody ever used it, and they wouldn’t notice anything vanishing from it anyways. Besides, it wasn’t as if they needed it for something.
A small, sharp stab pain lanced from her left shoulder as she bumped into something; caught unaware, she wobbled in place before falling backwards, landing sitting on the dirt road. The pain was not really a concern; she was used to far worse, both from the harsh work at the manor and the harsh punishments than ensued when it wasn’t completed swiftly enough. The bag fell open at her side, and she hurried to pick up the carrot that had slipped out of it before slinging it over her unhurt shoulder. Pickpockets weren’t rare in the city, and the last thing she wanted was to pay for the master’s food from her own salary.
“Are you okay down there, miss?â€
Her ears perked up in surprise at the voice; yet, what was truly astounding was the hand outstretched to help her. She looked up at the man; he was dressed in fine clothing, as good as any she’d seen on the master’s son. He didn’t look too much older either; maybe in his early twenties? She shook her head, feeling her ears heat up a little; it wasn’t polite to stare at someone of higher rank. Still, he was offering help, and it would be rude to reject it. “Yes, thank you, sir,†she said softly; as she had been taught to do. She placed her hand atop his, using his strength as support to bring herself up. Brushing the excess dirt off her dress, she bowed deeply, eyes staring at the tip of his shoes. Polished, too; he must be a wealthy noble, indeed.
“That’s good. I thought I had broken something; you stared at that carrot for a while, and were muttering under your breath.†She sputtered an incoherent string of denials; her eyes widened, and she clapped both hands over her mouth; what if he was a guest, and told the master about her behavior? She’d be in for a punishment for sure. The man stared at her, a curious expression on his face as he tilted his head to the side. “Where are you from, anyways, miss?†His voice had a soft tone to it, and yet somehow seemed to command more power than any she had ever felt from the master. Maybe he was a lord, too? She lowered her hands timidly, holding them together before her as she performed another, shorter bow. “I’m from Lord Aridion’s manor, sir,†she said, giving him a small, fake smile. Short, and to the point; as she had been taught. Never say more than what you are asked for; that was one of the rules at the manor. The man clapped his hands together, a delighted expression crossing his face before she averted her eyes.
“My, how lucky! To think that I would meet a member of one the town’s noble families so quickly! Why, milady, it is a pleasure to meet you!†Her eyes widened as the man executed a flawless flourish and bowed deeply; she swallowed nervously, even as she felt her cheeks heat up. He had to be teasing her, right? She looked around; some of the people had stopped walking to stare at the strange man, which inevitably led to questioning stares towards her. Whatever was this person doing? Honestly, the amount of trouble she’d get into if word of this got back to the manor…She shuddered, and walked closer to the finely-dressed gentleman. “Please, sir, get up, people are staring at us!†The man’s head came up for a moment to stare at her, a cheeky grin plastered on his face as he spoke. “Ah, I have mistaken your rank.†She breathed out a sigh of relief as she placed a hand on her chest; now, all she had to do was make sure that gossip about this didn’t reach the mistress’ ears. “Forgive me, your highness, it won’t happen again.†To her horror, the man sunk to his knees, head bowed deeply; wasn’t this how people saluted royalty, or something like that? She stared in panic around her, flustered; some people were laughing nervously, while others gave her disapproving stares. Wait, it wasn’t her fault; why were they staring at –her- like that? They should be staring at him! She looked down at the man, panicked. “Get up! I, uh, I mean, please, sir…ah, heavens, just get up, darn it!†She fell silent, her expression a strange cross somewhere between a pleased smile and a mortified stare.
“Finally. I was starting to think they had found a way to turn pretty girls into dolls here, princess!†The man dusted his clothes off as he rose, yet it seemed to be only for show; not a single mote had adhered to the fine suit. She stared at him for a second longer, dumbfounded, as she tried to find her voice once more. “It’s, well, ah…†Her thoughts dwelled for a moment on the compliment, and she felt her heartbeat accelerate furiously; shaking her head again, she tried to place her thoughts in order, but the maelstrom of emotion inside of her refused to quiet down. “Well, how in the dragons’ name am I supposed to answer to that?†It was only a few seconds later that she realized she had blurted out the question; sighing in defeat, she resigned herself to her fate. The light accent of Low Realm speech, ever present in her words, grew stronger as she relaxed slightly. “They come pretty close. Would you consider not telling anyone ‘bout this, if you’re going to the manor?†The man winked cheekily once more as he spoke; somehow, he managed to sound gentle and sarcastic, all at the same time. “Sure thing, princess. Boy scout’s honor.â€
She tilted her head to the side, puzzled. What in the Wyld was a boy scout supposed to be? “My name is Trevor, by the way. Trevor Serdic.†He looked at her expectantly, and she realized he was waiting for her to answer. Would wonders never cease today? A nobleman who cared about her name! Maybe Nibbles would talk to her tonight; heavens knew the kitty was smart enough. “Mine’s Marianne…Marianne Fowler.†He stared at her for a moment longer, as if waiting for her to say something else. Wait, why did she feel like she had answered a question wrong? That was her name! The man’s hand rose to his chin, his eyes narrowing, appraising, a thoughtful expression filling his face for an instant before being released. “Nah. Princess suits you better.â€
Her eyes widened with indignation as she placed her hands on her hips, drawing herself up slightly. Oh, yes? Well, two could play this game! “So, what brings you to Noru, prince charming? Sightseeing?†She smiled smugly up at him, her own grin reflected back at her in the man’s expression. Shrugging in a mockery of defeat, he raised both hands to his sides as he shook his head. “Tut tut, wrong guess, princess. Tell you what. It’s past noon, and I’m starving. Show me to a good restaurant, and I’ll tell you over lunch. My treat,†he added, winking as he spoke the last two words. Marianne hesitated for a moment. Should she accept the offer? She really had to get back to the manor soon, or she wouldn’t have enough time to prepare dinner. Her eyes met Trevor’s, and she made her choice. How often did she meet a nobleman who invited her out to lunch? Never, that was how often. She smiled at him happily, nodding her head slightly. “Aight, follow me, then, I’m pretty hungry too. There’s no really fancy places ‘round here like the ones you might be used to, but the food is good!†Her voice had a slightly more cheerful tone to it near the end; she knew just the place. It was pretty close to the slums, but the cook there was excellent, even by Miss Bonnet’s standards.
She walked forwards, Trevor close on her trail as she turned right towards the closest alleyway. It was a lot more deserted than the main street, but also a lot faster than walking all the way around the market. They should arrive in no time; she could already taste the beef stew they cooked every other day, and felt her mouth start to water. She hadn’t eaten meat this week yet; it’d be a nice treat. Suddenly, she stopped; a flash of movement made her freeze in place as she turned her head towards the source. Four thugs, armed with clubs, stepped out of a door to the right, their movements slow and unsteady. Behind them, the opening showed a tavern filled with people talking; could the four of them be drunk at this time of the day? She stepped back fearfully, turning her head to warn Trevor away; her companion, however, was nowhere to be seen. How long had she been alone? Her hand slipped into her apron, fingering the knife that she always carried there; she had practiced what her mother had taught her of knife-throwing as often as she could at the manor. Maybe she could take out one of them, and run away in the confusion.
One of the brutes raised his hand, palm facing upwards, before speaking in a deep, rumbling voice that made her shake with fear. “Why, hello there, pretty girl.†What had been a compliment from Trevor felt greasy and slimy from the scum in front of her, and she glared at him, pulling out the knife as she let her groceries fall to the ground with a dull thud. The four drunkards laughed boisterously, and the same one, apparently their leader, spoke out again. “Look, boys, the girlie’s got some fight in her!†The three thugs behind him guffawed again, and she swallowed nervously, refusing to back down. She knew they’d attack the moment she showed them weakness; she had to wait for the right chance to run away. Without warning, a loud, cracking noise echoed across the narrow pathway; the third man’s face distorted gruesomely for a moment before he fell backwards, his limbs twisted at awkward angles. The remaining three looked at the corpse, dumbfounded; the two on the back attempted to run away, panicking as the leader shouted at their backs. Before they could reach the safety of the main street, however, their legs suddenly gave out, having been cut cleanly through by…something.
Marianne watched in morbid fascination, frozen in place, escape completely forgotten. Maybe it was the good luck charm she had bought last week; the housekeeper said it was a hokey one, but what did she know? The man turned towards her, nostrils flaring. “Witch! What did you do?†Roaring with anger, he rushed at her. Yet, instead of the terror she expected, she felt only anger at the beast in front of her. How many people had he killed? How many others had this band assaulted, just as they had her? How many people had suffered because of these monsters’ greed? No, she had to stop it. She –would- stop it. She focused, just as her mother had taught her; she needn’t be afraid of the knife, it was but a tool. Her eyes narrowed as she whipped her hand back, preparing for the throw, and she felt a golden, warm power suffuse her being. There was no uncertainty in her mind; this weapon would hit its target, and this man would never harm another innocent again. In a single, fluid motion, her knife flew out, its aim unerring. The man prepared to dodge; he would jump at her and pound the girl’s head in before she could do any more of her black magic. She felt the golden glow pulse, awaiting release; she opened herself to it, and countless knives filled the air, all identical to the one she had tossed. The man’s eyes widened in one final moment of terrible realization, his eyes focusing on the golden ring blazing proudly on her forehead before one of them embedded itself into his trachea, killing him instantly. The warmth seeped away from her body, and she fell to her knees, suddenly feeling weak and drained. Marianne brought her hand up to her mouth as she fought the urge to throw up what little she had taken for breakfast that morning. Was all that really blood? She shuddered as her eyes followed the viscous, scarlet liquid’s movement. A hand appeared in her field of vision, holding a handkerchief; she stared up into Trevor’s eyes, which reflected an eerie, golden light back at her.
“Why, princess! You never told me you were a magician, too!â€
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
The Exaltation came as a great surprise to her, yet not unwelcome. It was a chance to escape the life she had been bound to, and perhaps make a difference in the world. Tales of the Anathema, however, had reached even her ears; she feared discovery, and the trouble that would inevitably trail behind it. Following Trevor’s advice, she returned to the manor once more that same day. Carefully, she avoided the kitchen maid as she hastened to her room; a tiny cubicle with barely enough space for a bed. Nibbles poked her head out from beneath the covers, meowling curiously. She shushed the small kitty and rubbed her head softly before kneeling on the floor. With some effort, she pulled out from beneath the bed what was, perhaps, the only belonging she could truly call her own; a small leather pouch containing her savings, painstakingly earned and jealously guarded. Nine siu and a handful of yen were inside; she counted them to make sure none of it had vanished before pulling the drawstrings shut and tying it securely to her left hand.
Motioning for Nibbles to follow her, she moved outside slowly, hurrying past the kitchen before pausing. It was empty; the kitchen maid had vanished. Taking advantage of the chance, she snuck some of Miss Bonnet’s best knives into her apron. Wherever she was going, she reasoned it was bound to be dangerous. Taking care not to hurt herself, she walked outside as briskly as she dared to while carrying the utensils, and it was not until she was at Trevor’s side once more that she finally sighed in relief, relaxing. They left Noru together that night, Marianne’s mind troubled and drained, yet truly hopeful for the first time in years.
Marianne is an idealistic young woman born in the midst of poverty; she holds bright dreams, but also believes most of them to be unreachable after enduring the harshness of a low-class life in a town where people like her are considered unworthy of notice. As a result, she has grown jealous of people with better opportunities; noblemen, scholars and bureaucrats that waste their time idly, when they could be helping people with their resources, annoy her to no end. She dreams of a world not torn apart by inequity, where every mortal can have an equal chance to follow their heart; until her Exaltation, however, it was little more than a whisper spoken softly into her pillow every night before falling asleep. She has come to expect the worst out of every noble; she mentally writes off every person with rich clothing she meets as arrogant and lavish. It has proven pretty accurate, amongst the people she has met; only Trevor has failed to properly fit into the mold.
The former servant is stubborn and willful. Once an idea entrenches itself inside her mind, it is difficult to persuade her to abandon it. Her character caused her no end of trouble in her profession; after nine years of working as the manor’s scullion, however, she has learned to hide such thoughts away securely during work hours, presenting only the bland, subservient personality of the maid she’s expected to be. Rather than open rebellion, she has chosen the path of least resistance; objects mysteriously disappeared from the household on occasion, and seemingly unexplainable accidents seemed to happen to the lady’s dresses from time to time. Purloined goods supplemented the meager salary she was paid. After the incident she experienced during her first year of work, however, she made sure no other servants were ever blamed for her actions. To her mind, the masters had enough to live, and no need for the excess trinkets she pocketed from time to time. She empathizes with her former co-workers’ situation, however; piling still more trouble on their already burdened lives is contrary to her nature.
Marianne is curious and inquisitive. While not educated, she is eager to learn more of the world, particularly on topics related to the First Age; her mother’s stories, though vague, still imparted a sense of wonder to the girl, and a love for legends and myths. Though it embarrasses her, she is illiterate; her mother was far more concerned with teaching her skills that would allow her to survive in the city than fancy words and lessons on geography. Thus, she is quick to avoid situations that might reveal her lack of knowledge, and might lie or act to keep her secret from being exposed. She often struggles to balance this with her desire to learn; most of the time, however, it is the former which holds precedence, and she is more likely to pass on an opportunity than to admit to her perceived flaw. She only knows Low Realm; while High Realm was sometimes spoken around the manor, she was never exposed to it enough to learn it, and the slum accent is still noticeable in her voice should anyone care to look for it.
She is somewhat naive, and it is easy to gain her trust. While she is naturally careful around strangers, she’s easygoing and friendly towards those she perceives as non-threatening. Unfortunately, she is mistrustful of people she sees as members of the high-class; displays of jewelry and fine clothing are sure methods to arouse her suspicions and prejudices, and she’s quick to act out her role and be out of their way as soon as she can. In her eyes, they are nothing but trouble, and she has learned that limiting her interaction with them is a good way to stay out of it.
Cooking is an activity she enjoys greatly; she still has fond memories of her last years at home, when she helped her mother and father prepare dinner. She had always felt a special warmth and happiness from hearing them say her food was tasty, even if it had only consisted on boiled potatoes at the time. Preparing it for the masters was much less enjoyable. Whenever she had to cook for them, it meant Miss Bonnet, the head cook, had taken the day off, and she found it hard to avoid feeling resentment when she had to prepare luncheon in addition to her other chores. Nine years of working in the kitchens, however, honed her cooking skills to a high level, and she’s often happy to brag about them to others if given the chance.
Her Exaltation came as a very unexpected surprise; she still has some reservations about it actually having chosen the proper person, and considers it possible that the silly thing just was confused when it selected her. Still, she isn’t planning to complain any time soon; her admiration for the manor master’s abilities knew little bounds, as he was fond of displaying his control over fire before children to awe and entertain them. She only hopes that her own abilities might be strong enough eventually to rival those of a Dragonblooded like him, so that she can achieve her dream.
Marianne is but a few months past her nineteenth year; her features still retain a somewhat child-like appearance, if only slightly. While the chaos of the Wyld is kept at bay most of the time, it is inevitable for the taint to touch some of the children at birth, and she was not an exception. Her bright fuchsia hair and eyes differ from her parents’ own dull brown, and, though relatively insignificant, her ears’ appearance resembles the small horns of an owl. She displays them happily in public; while not exactly rampant, minor mutations are not so rare in the town of Noru that she has faced discrimination from any but the most bigoted of individuals. Her build is slim and lithe, though a little thinner than is probably healthy; her diet is not often consistent, and she has gone hungry from time to time when money was scarce, particularly as a child with her parents.
Her clothes are restricted to that which is appropriate for a servant; thus, other than a slightly dressier uniform given to employees by the manor for formal occasions, she usually wears simple, washed-out work clothes in dull tones. While she tries to take care of her appearance, her resources and time are limited, and it is far more common to see her running around town with her hair tied beneath a ragged scarf as she hurries to complete her errands. She envies the jewelry and finery worn by those of higher classes, but resolves to save up her meager income for meals instead, considering them to be far too expensive.
Haku1
Ze Hamster of Lurkdom
Oh... Mystia. Best beware of hungry ghosts. :lol:
Haku1
Ze Hamster of Lurkdom
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Em42XjJKSX8
"A man has to think big, act big, and dream big.
A dragonblooded, being a leader of men, has to think bigger, act bigger, and dream bigger!
An exalt has to be hungrier and more selfish than every other man! Because the dragonblooded has to encompass all the dreams and ambitions of those he leads!
If a man is happy with having a house, then an exalted cannot simply be happy with a manse! If a man loves his country, then his lord cannot simply be satisfied with that! An exalt must grasp the world and blaze new horizons for his men!"
Iskander of Gens Romonova
The first impression that people get when they meet Iskander is his presence. While he was not a staggering giant such as behemoths fielded by the fairfolk, he is larger than most men, that... and the projected aura of nobility that he bears made him even larger in people's mind.
His aspect of fire is easy to note, if one ignored his physical statue, for is he not dusky as if his inner fire blazed within him? Is his hair not as crimson and rich as the very fires of Hesiash? Then that is the warm amber gold shade that his eyes are. No, this scion of Gens Romonova is as well bred as they came and affliated with the essence of blazing fires.
Thus Iskander is not a man easily forgotten. If this were Creation in general, it is quite likely that he would have been a conquering general, or god king of some expanding portion of Creation as he marched to war.
Instead, Merkal is his home. And the great enemy he wages war upon is that of the infinite Wyld.
The appearance of anathema, so many, at once is concerning to him. His wife plead with him not to search them down, to discover why they had appeared thus in Merkal. But he is not to be swayed. For perhaps, with the appearance of so many anathema, Merkal is closer than ever to Creation proper. Perhaps... just perhaps, Merkal might once more rejoin Creation and the horizons of his people can stretch further from elemental pole to elemental pole.
"A man has to think big, act big, and dream big.
A dragonblooded, being a leader of men, has to think bigger, act bigger, and dream bigger!
An exalt has to be hungrier and more selfish than every other man! Because the dragonblooded has to encompass all the dreams and ambitions of those he leads!
If a man is happy with having a house, then an exalted cannot simply be happy with a manse! If a man loves his country, then his lord cannot simply be satisfied with that! An exalt must grasp the world and blaze new horizons for his men!"
Iskander of Gens Romonova
The first impression that people get when they meet Iskander is his presence. While he was not a staggering giant such as behemoths fielded by the fairfolk, he is larger than most men, that... and the projected aura of nobility that he bears made him even larger in people's mind.
His aspect of fire is easy to note, if one ignored his physical statue, for is he not dusky as if his inner fire blazed within him? Is his hair not as crimson and rich as the very fires of Hesiash? Then that is the warm amber gold shade that his eyes are. No, this scion of Gens Romonova is as well bred as they came and affliated with the essence of blazing fires.
Thus Iskander is not a man easily forgotten. If this were Creation in general, it is quite likely that he would have been a conquering general, or god king of some expanding portion of Creation as he marched to war.
Instead, Merkal is his home. And the great enemy he wages war upon is that of the infinite Wyld.
The appearance of anathema, so many, at once is concerning to him. His wife plead with him not to search them down, to discover why they had appeared thus in Merkal. But he is not to be swayed. For perhaps, with the appearance of so many anathema, Merkal is closer than ever to Creation proper. Perhaps... just perhaps, Merkal might once more rejoin Creation and the horizons of his people can stretch further from elemental pole to elemental pole.
MrSerious
Posting Addict
Damn, I am feeling distinctly outclassed by some of the -ahem- detailed character concepts listed here. 
ops:
ops:
Havok_Harbinger
Member
I am seriously trying, but I have a Graduation ceremony that I am setting up. I have the character finished except for a few BPs, can someone remind me of the new rules for Virtues and Willpower in the errata? I can provide it and a background tonight with this information.
Haku1
Ze Hamster of Lurkdom
Tabby
Derpsichord
I love that new system, btw. Assigning virtues based on how the character acts without being punished for not min/maxing conviction or whatever, and then being able to upgrade willpower as needed. Cheapo virtue points is much better for arr peean things.
Crasical
Member
Yeeps. Me too.MrSerious said:Damn, I am feeling distinctly outclassed by some of the -ahem- detailed character concepts listed here.
Sherwood
Luna's Concubine
And I thought that I had a detailed background story. :shock:
Tabby
Derpsichord
Being able to succinctly state a character concept in a few paragraphs arguably > doing it in 32 unpolished ones.
Hoshiko
Kitty Redeemer
Eep! G-ghosts? Nuh-uh, it's okay, I bought one of the amulets from the peddler last week, the paper ones? He said they were guaranteed to keep evil spirits and such away, you know. I've seen them 'round houses all the time, so they work!Haku said:
Both of the songs you posted were great; the first one was just beautiful, and very soothing, too! I really enjoyed listening to it!
Edit: Also, I agree with Tabby! Length doesn't necessarily mean a concept is more detailed, or better!
Tabby
Derpsichord
Dude I've been listening to that first song on and off most of yesterday and part of today. A+++
Red Shadow Claws
Six Thousand Club
you can always go into more details, but it's not always the detail, as much as the appeal of that character to the type of game I wanna run. And sometimes too much details can detract.
Sherwood
Luna's Concubine
Do you want character sheets posted here also, or just the background?
Red Shadow Claws
Six Thousand Club
Just background for now.
Tabby
Derpsichord
Havok_Harbinger
Member
Veda is a fire aspect sorceror who balances imbalanced areas within the providence of the reality generators. With the draw that this has on body and opportunities, he only has time to volunteer study with the generators themselves. He has taken an exceptional interest in feats of strength accomplished through a superior application of leverage as opposed to riotous strength. A hatred of the Wyld and the dangers that threaten those who venerate him and the Dragons in general has caused him to focus his sorcery towards combative sorcery such as the versatile Hound of the Five Winds.
Veda believes that he has ascended to Dragonblooded status through virtue of his personal superiority, and that the worship provided himself and the other Dragons is only their due. Veda supports his people as a father, seeking to protect his people from what they cannot personally defend themselves. Now, with the Anathema he is torn. On one hand he feels the need of the Celestials to aid with the troubles the reality engines are having. On the other, the stories of old always identified the Anathema as heroes turned horrors. Can the existing Dragonblooded Host allow the Exalts to maintain their engines without succumbing to the fall that previously tainted the era before the Usurpation? He would be watching.
Veda believes that he has ascended to Dragonblooded status through virtue of his personal superiority, and that the worship provided himself and the other Dragons is only their due. Veda supports his people as a father, seeking to protect his people from what they cannot personally defend themselves. Now, with the Anathema he is torn. On one hand he feels the need of the Celestials to aid with the troubles the reality engines are having. On the other, the stories of old always identified the Anathema as heroes turned horrors. Can the existing Dragonblooded Host allow the Exalts to maintain their engines without succumbing to the fall that previously tainted the era before the Usurpation? He would be watching.
MrSerious
Posting Addict
I think you had better announce a cut-off date for applications 
tacolicious
Junior Member
Name: Ieyashu Yakuri
Concept: Devout Wyld Warrior
Motivation: Find a way for to spread the Wyld from Merkal
Aspect: Earth
Player: Tacolicious
Background
Concept: Devout Wyld Warrior
Motivation: Find a way for to spread the Wyld from Merkal
Aspect: Earth
Player: Tacolicious
Background
Ieyashu Jasukashi had fallen back from the unshaped hoards as they surged across the lands. The contagion had already reduced her legion to a mere scale of soldiers, but had found a small island of slavation amongst the chaos. The dominion of Merkal had been protected from the initial waves using first age technology, but already the wyld fiends were pushing back thier bubble of creation, hour by hour, yard by yard.
The City had barely any standing army, thier local daiymo having procted them for centuries. As the invisible walls pushed close enough to the walls for the locals, Jasukashi pledged her remaining men to sally forth and destroy the Wyld monsters before they devoured thier souls.
And so Jasukashi and her last men sallied forth from the town into the heart of the raksha. Story after story were ended prematurely by the thier weapons that day. For every one of her men that fell, hundreds of unshaped and shaped alike fell. At last she alone remained, swirling in a sea of chaos. A single raksha knight stepped forward, clad in gossamer and wielding a sword woven of childrens waking dreams.
The duel that raged between them was legendary, but with every stroke that was parried, every blow turned aside, the raksha lord grew hungrier and stronger, and finally bested her sword. 'Revel in your form human, for soon your creation shall be returned to pure glorious cha-' the last of the sentenced was cut short as moonsilver claws burst through his chest and fangs bit deep into its neck. The lunar howled in pure ecstacy as his pack cleaved through the surrounding wyld minions.
Gossamer still dripping from his fangs, the lunar knelt down over Jasukashi. 'I normally kill you and your lizard-blood bretheren on sight, but I admire your determination to attend to the defence of a town that is not yours to defend, for your sacrifice has bought them enough time to stabilise thier reality engines. As such, I offer you a deal. I will return you to the belaguered town of Merkal. In return, you will defend their domain selflessly until it is its time to rejoin creation.'
Jasukashi nodded her head slowly, and so, the Swords of the Inner Soul were born.[/i]
That was 800 years ago. The Swords have protected the peoples of Merkal since.
Ieyashu Yukari is the current leader of the Swords of the Inner Soul. He as adopted the founders family name like the the leader before him, and the leader before that. He was graced by Pasiap during a wyld assualt on his outlying farm, in the presence of one of the Inner souls. He was adopted and placed in thier care, growing up with thier mantras, determination and hatred for the Wyld. It was no surprise when they offered him a position withing thier ranks. As he grew older, he rose through thier ranks, ending invading rakshas and continuously warding the outside areas to protect the farms and herders. He believes strongly in the mantras practised by the Swords and preaches to the peoples to strengthen to them against the monsters outside thier borders.
Yukari believes in the ruling dragomblooded host, and respects thier rule of Merkal. For without them, the engines protecting the entire dominion would not protect the populace better than his sword could. He withholds his judgement on the rising 'anathema' rumors, even as he is asked by the Merkal Deliberative to go and investigate. He has reason to feel different about the old stories, for only he and each Ieyashu before him knows the true story of Jasukashi and her mens sacrifice all that time ago.
Apperance
The City had barely any standing army, thier local daiymo having procted them for centuries. As the invisible walls pushed close enough to the walls for the locals, Jasukashi pledged her remaining men to sally forth and destroy the Wyld monsters before they devoured thier souls.
And so Jasukashi and her last men sallied forth from the town into the heart of the raksha. Story after story were ended prematurely by the thier weapons that day. For every one of her men that fell, hundreds of unshaped and shaped alike fell. At last she alone remained, swirling in a sea of chaos. A single raksha knight stepped forward, clad in gossamer and wielding a sword woven of childrens waking dreams.
The duel that raged between them was legendary, but with every stroke that was parried, every blow turned aside, the raksha lord grew hungrier and stronger, and finally bested her sword. 'Revel in your form human, for soon your creation shall be returned to pure glorious cha-' the last of the sentenced was cut short as moonsilver claws burst through his chest and fangs bit deep into its neck. The lunar howled in pure ecstacy as his pack cleaved through the surrounding wyld minions.
Gossamer still dripping from his fangs, the lunar knelt down over Jasukashi. 'I normally kill you and your lizard-blood bretheren on sight, but I admire your determination to attend to the defence of a town that is not yours to defend, for your sacrifice has bought them enough time to stabilise thier reality engines. As such, I offer you a deal. I will return you to the belaguered town of Merkal. In return, you will defend their domain selflessly until it is its time to rejoin creation.'
Jasukashi nodded her head slowly, and so, the Swords of the Inner Soul were born.[/i]
That was 800 years ago. The Swords have protected the peoples of Merkal since.
Ieyashu Yukari is the current leader of the Swords of the Inner Soul. He as adopted the founders family name like the the leader before him, and the leader before that. He was graced by Pasiap during a wyld assualt on his outlying farm, in the presence of one of the Inner souls. He was adopted and placed in thier care, growing up with thier mantras, determination and hatred for the Wyld. It was no surprise when they offered him a position withing thier ranks. As he grew older, he rose through thier ranks, ending invading rakshas and continuously warding the outside areas to protect the farms and herders. He believes strongly in the mantras practised by the Swords and preaches to the peoples to strengthen to them against the monsters outside thier borders.
Yukari believes in the ruling dragomblooded host, and respects thier rule of Merkal. For without them, the engines protecting the entire dominion would not protect the populace better than his sword could. He withholds his judgement on the rising 'anathema' rumors, even as he is asked by the Merkal Deliberative to go and investigate. He has reason to feel different about the old stories, for only he and each Ieyashu before him knows the true story of Jasukashi and her mens sacrifice all that time ago.
Apperance
Yukari is a small stocky man appearing about his mid twenties. The strength of his dragons blood is evident in nearly every facet of his looks. His dirty blonde hair is straight and cut to just above his shoulders, and sand falls from it when it shakes violently. His dark blue eyes look facted like a sapphire when they catch the suns rays and His handshake feels like stone, but in a comforting way like admiring the stone walls of a home during a horrific storm. Such is the strength of his blood, rumors around merkal say that when he exalted, the boundaries of the domain pushed out just a little further.
personality
personality
Yukari is a barely spoken man, but when he speaks, his words are thought out and carry a power to thier meaning. When not training with the other swords or the Merkalian army, he offer his help to capitol works, and also as a labourer to the outlying farms. During it all, he uses this time to spread the mantras of the Swords to the populace, for he truely believes that the inner souls is the best weapon against thier fair folk and thier ploys.
Swords of the Inner Soul
Swords of the Inner Soul
The Swords of the Inner Soul are the legacy of Jasukashi agreement with the Lunar that saved her. The swords are a martial group that preaches that as the raksha strive to devour the soul, the best defence is a strong soul, one that burns so bright it can be used as a weapon against them. This is acheived by following martial techniques and doing selfless acts to turn the mortal soul into a light the raksha dare not taste.
The group comprises 25 people in total, as a testiment to the men who sacrificed themselves. Selection for the group is only when one of members passes. Selection is not by trials, but the Swords constantly watch the population for a successor, and announce the person once a month has passed since the death of thier comrade. The swords gives no special consideration towards exalts, especially as the blood has started to dilute over the ages. As such they comprise mostly of mortals
The Swords relationship with the Merkal deliberative is both seperate and close at the same time. They have no offical connection to the deliberative, which is respected by the deliberative. This is due to the martial training they provide to the Merkal defence forces, along with the history keeping they perform for the Deliberative.
The group comprises 25 people in total, as a testiment to the men who sacrificed themselves. Selection for the group is only when one of members passes. Selection is not by trials, but the Swords constantly watch the population for a successor, and announce the person once a month has passed since the death of thier comrade. The swords gives no special consideration towards exalts, especially as the blood has started to dilute over the ages. As such they comprise mostly of mortals
The Swords relationship with the Merkal deliberative is both seperate and close at the same time. They have no offical connection to the deliberative, which is respected by the deliberative. This is due to the martial training they provide to the Merkal defence forces, along with the history keeping they perform for the Deliberative.