Vasco Correa
Committed
Roleplay posts: 51
Appearance: Thin and lithe, Vasco is his mother's antithesis, taking only her broad shoulders as his own. His narrow, diamond-shaped face and long features can be seen as striking, if not handsome, by many.
He has a head of immaculately trimmed, dirty blonde hair and it is clear he takes great care of it, trimming and oiling and all the works.
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Equipment: Vasco's preferred weapon of choice is a special rapier that houses a thin, hollow chamber typically filled with a neurotoxin found back in their homeland. The chamber can also be filled with other substances.
________________________________________________________
Skills and Abilities: Vasco's vampiric curse can allow him to change her form into several distinct shapes: a shaggy black dog, a blackbird, and an eel.
His senses and natural strength are heightened considerably at night and gutter just as significantly during the day. He has excellent night vision that causes him to be blinded completely in the presence of the sun. Despite this, he does not burn in direct sunlight.
The Correa family's shared ability is that which to create loyal thralls without having to sire them into vampires. Thralls are created with a bite and a magical sigil. Sired vampires are created with a bite from the vampire, and then the ingestion of the vampire's blood. Thralls share a portion of the vampire's strength and can still walk freely in the sun, though with a newfound disdain for it. They are not vampires themselves but have a substantial, artificial fondness for them.
Registered: Mar 22, 2021 17:17:59 GMT -5
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Post by Vasco Correa on Jun 10, 2021 19:05:21 GMT -5
"You already know me so well," sang Vasco as Zasha placed the sweet herby tea in front of him. "Citrus and mint. I do prefer Assyrtiko when I get the chance, as well. Do you think, perhaps, we met in a past life?" He took a sip of his tea slowly, never having blown on it. "Or is it just that obvious?"
Huey took a seat at the table next, drinking his own tea without sweetener, and conservatively. "The designs are lovely," the child pointed out. Briefly, he wondered if they still had any potters. A question for later, certainly. "And you were quite right about the tea. I hope that you can find something similar on the island to replicate the taste."
While they spoke, Vasco took note of how Zasha's speech rivaled her appearance. She was not as sophisticated as a noble in dress, nor was she in manner, but the way she spoke was something different. Some parts of it were rough, but her vocabulary wasn't that of any normal street thug. Perhaps it was the teachings of this Reverend she brought up several minutes before. Vasco was certain that it had something to do with this religion of theirs, but how did she turn out with so many rivaling traits? When all this was over, a good sit-down and a talk were in order. Perhaps over something more than tea, next time.
"There was a wolf," Huey began, just as the vampire was opening his mouth, "Made of tar. A rather large animal. It devoured her when she was too weak. She went for several months without blood. You must know what that does to their kind." The child paused to think, wondering where to continue. "It was no sooner than we landed, did it attack. Northwest of here at a cape. We tried to follow the trail, but we were diverted by your camp. That is how we ended up here. I do imagine she will survive, but she might be too tired to truly fight it off for good, especially before daylight."
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Zasha Tolstov
Established
Roleplay posts: 26
Appearance: Zasha is a lithe and lanky woman, standing a good 6' 5" tall. She is almost purely muscle, with an aggressive stance to match. Her bleached hair remains in a ponytail with long bangs and an severe undercut. Tattoos of various rules and symbols seem etched into her arms and shoulders. Each one radiates a green energy that grows in intensity to match her temper.
She wears a jumpsuit with the top pulled down and tied around her waist, with the legs tucked into calf high stockings. A pair of reinforced gloves and goggles never leave her side.
Equipment: · Reinforced gloves with built in brass knuckles
· Goggles with sea glass green lenses
· Blessed bandana usually tied around her right arm
. Earnings made from the teeth of a wild beast
· Steel skinning knife
· Heavy crossbow
Skills and Abilities: Zasha is a master of boxing and martial arts. Her particular school focused on overwhelming offensive manoeuvres and an almost dance-like agility. Her dexterity and poise are honed to a fine art.
A lifetime of service to The Reverend gives Zasha token book knowledge of a few academic subjects. Her particular passion concerns history and labour rights movements.
In addition, Zasha believes herself to be possessed by a spirit that enhances her aggressive actions and attitudes.
Biography: "My name is Zasha Tolstov", at least that is what a handwritten card left in the basket with her claimed. As a baby, Tolstov arrived in a wicker basket on the front step of The Reverend's home. He took the baby in and raised her as his protege and helper, watching in awe as she grew tall quickly. Her physical prowess was evident from a young age after she protected The Reverend from a band of would be thevies.
Since her youth, she has been a constant companion to The Reverend, helping him serve the sizeable flock which attended his cathedral. No spare moment would see waste as Zasha worked and trained wherever she could.
Now, following the total destruction of her old homeland, Zasha finds herself possessed by some spirit, invisible to all but her and The Reverend.
Registered: Mar 21, 2021 15:52:20 GMT -5
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Post by Zasha Tolstov on Jun 14, 2021 12:19:30 GMT -5
“Were you ever in the Balaton Kingdom? Maybe we spoke briefly on market day, or passed each other in the street outside of Saint Tarsus? If those don’t mean anything to you, then we must assume my keen insight divined the sort of tea you would like.”
A smirk plays on Zasha’s face as she remembers her old country. Oh, what she would give to just see the docks again, or to taste a sunflower halva and feel the summer sun on her back in the Garden of All Saints.
The all too brief recounting of the facts, such as they are, around this Mother forces Zasha to adopt a look of careful contemplation as she tries to puzzle out any hidden meanings between the sparsely chosen words of Huey. Was the ‘without blood’ comment in reference to literal blood, or to performing the rituals of a blood drinker? Blood itself does not give power, at least not in the stories. There are, again, more questions than answers. With a slurp, Zasha takes a swig of tea to help focus.
“So your mother is northwest of here. That is a good start. A wolf made of tar is something entirely else! Never seen a beast like that. Was there just the one? And you say it ate her?”
The unsaid follow up rings in Zasha’s mind, threatening to leap forth unbidden unless she drowns her voice with another healthy slug of tea.
And you expect her to be fine? Cry the unsaid words, zinging along inside her mind. Is their mother a saint? Normally, this would be a point of fascination and celebration. A saint, here in this strange land, would be a clear sign of favour from the Lord of Light.
Why do the hairs stand up on the back of her neck? There are too many questions. Something here rings hollow, if not false. And, of course, the only way to get answers is to go forward and find them. Wherever, and whatever, they are.
If it so happens that this mother is dangerous, that Huey and Vasco have lied their way into getting help to retrieve something destructive and evil, the answer is simple: swift application of force until it stops being a problem.
Zasha sets her mug down and considers something new. What if Huey and Vasco are after someone with power like what I have?
The question of how Zasha earned her abilities never found a satisfactory answer. The Reverend said time and again that Zasha was blessed by God, which was clearly true. Just look at her! Infinite in faculty, noble in reason, form like an angel. But why? And how was it that such blessings were so rare? The possibilities are too much to think on now.
Back to the present, Zasha. There is work to be done.
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Vasco Correa
Committed
Roleplay posts: 51
Appearance: Thin and lithe, Vasco is his mother's antithesis, taking only her broad shoulders as his own. His narrow, diamond-shaped face and long features can be seen as striking, if not handsome, by many.
He has a head of immaculately trimmed, dirty blonde hair and it is clear he takes great care of it, trimming and oiling and all the works.
_______________________________________________________
Equipment: Vasco's preferred weapon of choice is a special rapier that houses a thin, hollow chamber typically filled with a neurotoxin found back in their homeland. The chamber can also be filled with other substances.
________________________________________________________
Skills and Abilities: Vasco's vampiric curse can allow him to change her form into several distinct shapes: a shaggy black dog, a blackbird, and an eel.
His senses and natural strength are heightened considerably at night and gutter just as significantly during the day. He has excellent night vision that causes him to be blinded completely in the presence of the sun. Despite this, he does not burn in direct sunlight.
The Correa family's shared ability is that which to create loyal thralls without having to sire them into vampires. Thralls are created with a bite and a magical sigil. Sired vampires are created with a bite from the vampire, and then the ingestion of the vampire's blood. Thralls share a portion of the vampire's strength and can still walk freely in the sun, though with a newfound disdain for it. They are not vampires themselves but have a substantial, artificial fondness for them.
Registered: Mar 22, 2021 17:17:59 GMT -5
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Post by Vasco Correa on Jun 16, 2021 16:56:34 GMT -5
Vasco did not look at Huey. Even if he wished to roll his eyes at the child until they plopped out and started to wheel themselves over the table, he kept his gaze only on Zasha. He knew that if he were to exchange glances with Huey now, it would betray the lie he just told. What's more, he was trying to read the woman's expressions to see if she'd already figured them out. Mother was the one who was good at telling lies, not her thralls.
"Just one. Larger than a horse," said Vasco. "Have you not seen anything like that here?" He feigned curiosity and surprise but did not exaggerate it. A quirk of the brow, a small frown. "I suppose I should be thankful something like that isn't crawling over every corner of these lands."
Huey heaved a sigh. "It swallowed her up in the way an eel would. Mother is tough, however. Just weak."
They both took a drink, one after another.
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Zasha Tolstov
Established
Roleplay posts: 26
Appearance: Zasha is a lithe and lanky woman, standing a good 6' 5" tall. She is almost purely muscle, with an aggressive stance to match. Her bleached hair remains in a ponytail with long bangs and an severe undercut. Tattoos of various rules and symbols seem etched into her arms and shoulders. Each one radiates a green energy that grows in intensity to match her temper.
She wears a jumpsuit with the top pulled down and tied around her waist, with the legs tucked into calf high stockings. A pair of reinforced gloves and goggles never leave her side.
Equipment: · Reinforced gloves with built in brass knuckles
· Goggles with sea glass green lenses
· Blessed bandana usually tied around her right arm
. Earnings made from the teeth of a wild beast
· Steel skinning knife
· Heavy crossbow
Skills and Abilities: Zasha is a master of boxing and martial arts. Her particular school focused on overwhelming offensive manoeuvres and an almost dance-like agility. Her dexterity and poise are honed to a fine art.
A lifetime of service to The Reverend gives Zasha token book knowledge of a few academic subjects. Her particular passion concerns history and labour rights movements.
In addition, Zasha believes herself to be possessed by a spirit that enhances her aggressive actions and attitudes.
Biography: "My name is Zasha Tolstov", at least that is what a handwritten card left in the basket with her claimed. As a baby, Tolstov arrived in a wicker basket on the front step of The Reverend's home. He took the baby in and raised her as his protege and helper, watching in awe as she grew tall quickly. Her physical prowess was evident from a young age after she protected The Reverend from a band of would be thevies.
Since her youth, she has been a constant companion to The Reverend, helping him serve the sizeable flock which attended his cathedral. No spare moment would see waste as Zasha worked and trained wherever she could.
Now, following the total destruction of her old homeland, Zasha finds herself possessed by some spirit, invisible to all but her and The Reverend.
Registered: Mar 21, 2021 15:52:20 GMT -5
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Post by Zasha Tolstov on Jun 19, 2021 16:44:56 GMT -5
“No. I can’t say our expeditions ever came across a singular wolf, larger than a horse, which so happens to also be made of tar.”
A brief lull follows as Zasha, staring directly into the flat dull eyes of Huey, takes another sip of tea.
“Something isn’t adding up here, friends. I worry that I won’t be able to lend you the most efficient help I can if I don’t have all the facts. I doubt you are maliciously leaving things out, but what you have said so far does not hold up against a stiff breeze.”
The Reverend taught Zasha much about seeing through falsehoods and half truths in her childhood. Nothing escaped his glance, not a missing slice of cake, broken candlesticks, nor spilled ink sloppily sopped up with his favourite stole. His keen observation is not what impressed Zasha the most as a child, it was his ability to force the exact truth to come to the surface. A crooked eyebrow here, an uncomfortable pause there. It wasn’t enough to know someone was attempting a cover up, leading them to speaking the truth was the true mark of a keen wit.
Zasha knows her own wit doesn’t match up with The Reverend. She can’t recall obscure passages from tomes of wisdom at the drop of a hat, or spin a telling metaphor with acerbically laced proverbs embedded within. What she does have is insight into the obvious, a commanding form, and the wherewithal to use it.
“Vasco. Please be so kind as to tell me what happened to your mother. Leaving out details means this will be more difficult come tomorrow. It is also incredibly rude to ask someone for help and then neglect to tell them exactly what they are signing on for, eh? That would certainly put a damper on any after rescue celebrations...”
One last gulp drains her vast mug. Not waiting for an immediate response from either of her guests, Zasha gives an almighty stretch, left arm stretching above her head and chest puffed out slightly. A satisfied moan, affected to give a sense of idle calm, provides cover for her to take note of Vasco’s reaction to her question, as well as the direction of his gaze.
The slight tension between Huey and Vasco was the pressure point here. Discombobulate the one, unsettle the other.
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Vasco Correa
Committed
Roleplay posts: 51
Appearance: Thin and lithe, Vasco is his mother's antithesis, taking only her broad shoulders as his own. His narrow, diamond-shaped face and long features can be seen as striking, if not handsome, by many.
He has a head of immaculately trimmed, dirty blonde hair and it is clear he takes great care of it, trimming and oiling and all the works.
_______________________________________________________
Equipment: Vasco's preferred weapon of choice is a special rapier that houses a thin, hollow chamber typically filled with a neurotoxin found back in their homeland. The chamber can also be filled with other substances.
________________________________________________________
Skills and Abilities: Vasco's vampiric curse can allow him to change her form into several distinct shapes: a shaggy black dog, a blackbird, and an eel.
His senses and natural strength are heightened considerably at night and gutter just as significantly during the day. He has excellent night vision that causes him to be blinded completely in the presence of the sun. Despite this, he does not burn in direct sunlight.
The Correa family's shared ability is that which to create loyal thralls without having to sire them into vampires. Thralls are created with a bite and a magical sigil. Sired vampires are created with a bite from the vampire, and then the ingestion of the vampire's blood. Thralls share a portion of the vampire's strength and can still walk freely in the sun, though with a newfound disdain for it. They are not vampires themselves but have a substantial, artificial fondness for them.
Registered: Mar 22, 2021 17:17:59 GMT -5
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Post by Vasco Correa on Jun 21, 2021 18:18:22 GMT -5
The edge of Vasco's lips twitched.
"Just so we have a mutual understanding, I am not the one who decided we would be lying today," he said, sprawling a hand on his chest dramatically. He inclined his head gently to glare at Huey, as he often did. The child showed as much emotion as he previously did, eyes narrowing a smidgeon.
"All that I do, I do to protect Mother." He took a sip of tea and left it at that.
With a rolling grunt, the vampire crossed his arms and leaned back. He needed the moment to get the story together, to figure out what he could say and what he could leave out. This woman wasn't stupid- both wonderfully and infuriatingly so- and she wasn't going to make this easy. He adopted a grimace when the memory of Maribel bounding from her cage entered his mind. But it wasn't really Maribel at the time, was it? It was this curse taking her over, using her body as a puppet to ease its starvation.
"My mother was hungry," Vasco began, "She starved herself. Gave her blood to the children so they would not die of thirst. She had nothing to eat, herself. I attempted to offer her fish. It wasn't enough for her." He paused to plunk his ankle atop his knee and recall the journey. "She is an elder vampire, and they have the ability to starve far longer than those closer to my age, but something about the mist dampened her power. She was dying. We kept her in darkness to help her save what strength she had, but we did not think she would last much longer. That was, of course, when the mist parted and we saw the island."
Like all the others, he did not recall the hands of the Keeper that greeted them. Such an event was too bizarre to speak of.
"We landed on a shale beach surrounded by more mist and strange obelisks. They looked old, carved by smart hands and not by the chaotic fate of nature. It was here that we released mother. A mistake." His eyes clouded over, green clouding over with a muddy amber. "The Correa family, those who have been blessed, have been given the ability to assume the form of The Dip. It is a dog. A wiry dog with a limp. Maribel, my mother, may be able to give you a history lesson on it, but I do not care about it. She sought to assume such a form to hunt. Such a form did not come to her." He put a hand over his mouth, the other cupping his elbow. His eyes rose, looking Zasha in the eye.
"Instead, she became a wolf of tar and bone. Rather, it consumed her. My mother was no longer present. I'm fairly certain it had to do with that beach and those obelisks, whatever they were, but it infected my mother and ran off with her body like a puppet. I saw her clawing from within the wolf's body, trying to escape it. I could not pursue it, as it was too quick."
And for another moment, he was silent, trying to push the sight from his mind. He downed the rest of his tea.
"There you have it, Lady Zasha. I'm afraid the truth is spot uglier than what Huey was trying to give you."
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Zasha Tolstov
Established
Roleplay posts: 26
Appearance: Zasha is a lithe and lanky woman, standing a good 6' 5" tall. She is almost purely muscle, with an aggressive stance to match. Her bleached hair remains in a ponytail with long bangs and an severe undercut. Tattoos of various rules and symbols seem etched into her arms and shoulders. Each one radiates a green energy that grows in intensity to match her temper.
She wears a jumpsuit with the top pulled down and tied around her waist, with the legs tucked into calf high stockings. A pair of reinforced gloves and goggles never leave her side.
Equipment: · Reinforced gloves with built in brass knuckles
· Goggles with sea glass green lenses
· Blessed bandana usually tied around her right arm
. Earnings made from the teeth of a wild beast
· Steel skinning knife
· Heavy crossbow
Skills and Abilities: Zasha is a master of boxing and martial arts. Her particular school focused on overwhelming offensive manoeuvres and an almost dance-like agility. Her dexterity and poise are honed to a fine art.
A lifetime of service to The Reverend gives Zasha token book knowledge of a few academic subjects. Her particular passion concerns history and labour rights movements.
In addition, Zasha believes herself to be possessed by a spirit that enhances her aggressive actions and attitudes.
Biography: "My name is Zasha Tolstov", at least that is what a handwritten card left in the basket with her claimed. As a baby, Tolstov arrived in a wicker basket on the front step of The Reverend's home. He took the baby in and raised her as his protege and helper, watching in awe as she grew tall quickly. Her physical prowess was evident from a young age after she protected The Reverend from a band of would be thevies.
Since her youth, she has been a constant companion to The Reverend, helping him serve the sizeable flock which attended his cathedral. No spare moment would see waste as Zasha worked and trained wherever she could.
Now, following the total destruction of her old homeland, Zasha finds herself possessed by some spirit, invisible to all but her and The Reverend.
Registered: Mar 21, 2021 15:52:20 GMT -5
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Post by Zasha Tolstov on Jun 21, 2021 21:24:13 GMT -5
What was it the Reverend liked to say? ‘ Truth is stranger than fiction, but that is because Fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities. Truth is not’. Zasha nods appreciatively as Vasco begins to set out the narrative in a more complete form. The look on his face shows irritation towards Huey, yes, but something more. Distaste for the whole affair? And why did Huey see fit to try and get by with the barest minimum of a coherent story? And then Vasco says it. A simple word, small and seemingly inconsequential to him. “ Vampyr?” Zasha says the word softly, her version starting like the word ‘water’ and ending in a clipped fashion. It makes sense now. And that means the children, Huey, and Vasco are… Zasha quells the flames within, taking a beat to send another brief prayer up to the Lord of Light. Give me mercy, she reflects. Malice is not the prime motivation for Huey, no. His story might have been fed to him for all Zasha knows. And here he is asking for help retrieving his mother. Whatever form that took, Zasha knows that mothers are dreadfully close to the hearts of nearly everyone. “Huey, this is exactly the sort of information I would have liked out of the gate. Your mother is a blood drinker, yes. She is also a Vampyr, which is far and away a different beast. Quite literally.” The pieces click satisfactorily into place now. The pleasant thrum of thoughts now in an order geared towards a purpose zip along inside Zasha‘s mind. She stands up from the squat table and begins gathering several items, beginning with some large apparatus under her cot. This was no mere wolf hunt with the added bonus of a giant tar beast. No, this was quite deadly. “Vasco, I thank you dearly for being so candid with me. Knowing this about your mother,” her usually boisterous voice forming this word more surreptitiously now, “aids me greatly. I am afraid the Vampyr have been long absent in the Old Country. Most of what I know comes from old stories the Reverend used to tell me. With what you say, and with your mother so blood starved. Well.” Zasha gestures to a large bow seemingly grafted sideways onto a long wooden stock, like one might see as part of an axe. A quarrel of sharpened bolts joins the first instrument on the table. Her eyes gleam. “Getting caught flat footed would have served us no good, eh? It is simple. We kill or otherwise disable the magic tar wolf, secure this mother, and return her to strength while I protect my fellow Pannoans from any outbursts she might have. I tell you both this now: any blood she takes from them, any harm that befalls them, I will return twice fold onto you. Personally. I do not mean this as a threat or to make you feel as though I do not wish safety on you and your mother and your family. I really do.” Zasha lowers herself to Huey’s level as she opens the wooden trunk nearby and sorts through it. Her sidelong gaze matches the blank stare before drifting up to Vasco. Thick eyebrows bunch together in resolution as she nods to the two dangerous men. “But there are boundaries to my hospitality. If you mean to have this mother of yours feed on my sheep, I will put a stop to that. Lord of Light as my strength, I will end you.” With items in hand, Zasha stands back up and tries on a half smile. She did not care for this role of a grim warden. The time in this new world showed the more brutal side of life far away from the comforts of home. Every day one wakes up here, new reminders of the pain of what was lost come back. Sometimes these wane, other times they do not. “That got tense quickly, friends. I will do everything in my abilities to help you, this I have promised and earnestly want to do. Crossing Pannoa helps no one, especially not you.” Zasha deposits a pile of fresh clothing on the end of her cot, along with a pair of heavy looking gloves braced with strips of metal, an over-large handkerchief, and a finely crafted satchel. “Unless you’d like a little strip show before bedtime, I suggest you find your way to your tents."
The tall woman falters, regarding Huey again with an expression of regret mixed with repressed laughter.
"Huey, I know you are not as young as you look to be, but I would still be extremely uncomfortable if you tried to take me up on this, so please know this is a joke, yes? There are guards posted around our little camp if you are in need of anything. You also know where to find me!” Zasha gives Vasco and Huey a polite nod, making no move to usher them out of her tent before they are ready to leave of their own choice.
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Vasco Correa
Committed
Roleplay posts: 51
Appearance: Thin and lithe, Vasco is his mother's antithesis, taking only her broad shoulders as his own. His narrow, diamond-shaped face and long features can be seen as striking, if not handsome, by many.
He has a head of immaculately trimmed, dirty blonde hair and it is clear he takes great care of it, trimming and oiling and all the works.
_______________________________________________________
Equipment: Vasco's preferred weapon of choice is a special rapier that houses a thin, hollow chamber typically filled with a neurotoxin found back in their homeland. The chamber can also be filled with other substances.
________________________________________________________
Skills and Abilities: Vasco's vampiric curse can allow him to change her form into several distinct shapes: a shaggy black dog, a blackbird, and an eel.
His senses and natural strength are heightened considerably at night and gutter just as significantly during the day. He has excellent night vision that causes him to be blinded completely in the presence of the sun. Despite this, he does not burn in direct sunlight.
The Correa family's shared ability is that which to create loyal thralls without having to sire them into vampires. Thralls are created with a bite and a magical sigil. Sired vampires are created with a bite from the vampire, and then the ingestion of the vampire's blood. Thralls share a portion of the vampire's strength and can still walk freely in the sun, though with a newfound disdain for it. They are not vampires themselves but have a substantial, artificial fondness for them.
Registered: Mar 22, 2021 17:17:59 GMT -5
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Post by Vasco Correa on Jun 22, 2021 18:12:02 GMT -5
Vasco's eyes did not leave Zasha's face for a minute. Though he seemed calm, in the confines of his mind he was screaming every expletive in the book. How could he not have noticed? How is it that she did not know before? She was so obviously onto them in some way, some form! But if it wasn't her knowledge of his vampirism, then what? What else so willingly drank blood and had fangs and icy skin? He wanted to rant. He wanted to scream! Of course, they wouldn't happen to waltz into a camp of humans where they so willingly accepted vampires as casually as any other! Why had he been so stupid? Why hadn't he put the pieces together sooner?
A million questions zipped through the young man's head as Zasha lectured them. Vasco regarded her with only one ounce of concern that was the keg of his mixed emotions, none of them good. When she was finished, all he really wanted to do was leave. Questions could wait until tomorrow. Questions could be asked by Maribel so he wouldn't have to deal with this mess he'd made at all.
"We had no previous knowledge of the camp before we wandered in. You haven't given me the time to scheme such things even if I wanted to," said Vasco, trying to reassure her with a wry smile. "I promise no harm will come to your camp. Not from us. Not from her." After all, mother had to be done with her rampage by now. "And I suppose a 'thank you' is in order. For the tea."
Swiping his fingers through his bangs, Vasco edged toward the entrance, his pleasant visage soon to crumble. It was then that Huey spoke up, crossing his arms. "Old as I may be, my body has yet to come of age, Lady Zasha. Such thoughts are far beyond me." With a flourish and a bow, he saw himself out. "Have a good night."
Once outside, Vasco's expression twisted into an ugly sneer. One fang curled over his lip, pressing into the tender skin. With how smooth his skin looked, it was surprising how many lines formed once he lost his composure. Though he did not speak, Huey felt his rage, and though he felt no fear, he did keep a healthy distance from the vampire. He'd been the young man's punching bag all day, and that was before he had any ire.
"What do we do now?" asked Huey, hungering for direction. Vasco sneered and took off in the other direction.
"Leaving me alone. Go to the camp and wait for my return."
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Zasha Tolstov
Established
Roleplay posts: 26
Appearance: Zasha is a lithe and lanky woman, standing a good 6' 5" tall. She is almost purely muscle, with an aggressive stance to match. Her bleached hair remains in a ponytail with long bangs and an severe undercut. Tattoos of various rules and symbols seem etched into her arms and shoulders. Each one radiates a green energy that grows in intensity to match her temper.
She wears a jumpsuit with the top pulled down and tied around her waist, with the legs tucked into calf high stockings. A pair of reinforced gloves and goggles never leave her side.
Equipment: · Reinforced gloves with built in brass knuckles
· Goggles with sea glass green lenses
· Blessed bandana usually tied around her right arm
. Earnings made from the teeth of a wild beast
· Steel skinning knife
· Heavy crossbow
Skills and Abilities: Zasha is a master of boxing and martial arts. Her particular school focused on overwhelming offensive manoeuvres and an almost dance-like agility. Her dexterity and poise are honed to a fine art.
A lifetime of service to The Reverend gives Zasha token book knowledge of a few academic subjects. Her particular passion concerns history and labour rights movements.
In addition, Zasha believes herself to be possessed by a spirit that enhances her aggressive actions and attitudes.
Biography: "My name is Zasha Tolstov", at least that is what a handwritten card left in the basket with her claimed. As a baby, Tolstov arrived in a wicker basket on the front step of The Reverend's home. He took the baby in and raised her as his protege and helper, watching in awe as she grew tall quickly. Her physical prowess was evident from a young age after she protected The Reverend from a band of would be thevies.
Since her youth, she has been a constant companion to The Reverend, helping him serve the sizeable flock which attended his cathedral. No spare moment would see waste as Zasha worked and trained wherever she could.
Now, following the total destruction of her old homeland, Zasha finds herself possessed by some spirit, invisible to all but her and The Reverend.
Registered: Mar 21, 2021 15:52:20 GMT -5
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Post by Zasha Tolstov on Jun 23, 2021 11:10:05 GMT -5
Distinct are the differences between exhaustion following a day of physical work and exertion from the mental toll of a day filled with cognitive labours and strain. The sensation of a dull roaring waterfall coats the interior of Zasha’s mind as she kindles a small flame between her thumb and forefinger. With this, she lights a second larger lamp on her table before turning to unpin the canvas flaps of the tent. Outside, the two visitors wander away, splitting off suddenly and taking different paths. The lanky one seemed to veer off quickly as the childlike form of Huey wavers for a moment before walking off. Zasha sighs mightily, trying to stir up reserves of mental energy to do a few preparations before turning in for the night. With her tent closed to the outside air and glimmering light of the lanterns hanging outside, shadows grow on the canvas walls, coaxed along by the light from her lamps. To the assembled tea mugs, Zasha murmurs her thoughts aloud. “Vampyrs. And so many of them!” The idea of this troop having been blood drinkers collapsed under the light of the truth. A cult of Vampyrs, stranded for who knows how long at sea... The Agamemnon fared as well as it did thanks to the sacrifices and prayers of the people, led by The Reverend. It makes sense that a woman, a young man, and several children would turn in desperation to attempting blood rituals on their own.
Zasha hopes that the outcomes aren’t irreversible, that their mother can be returned to her humanity from the unrestrained power of her own doing. Vasco seemed to suggest that she had been a Vampyr for a long stretch of time. An elder Vampyr, he said quite specifically. One from a lineage of cultists? Profane rituals passed from mouth to mouth? None of the mugs respond as Zasha washes them out in a steel basin filled with water. The cool water prickles across the runes and ink crisscrossing Zasha’s hands. The expectations of tomorrow are already feeding the anticipation of action within her chest, spreading down through her arms and into her legs. The crashing thrum of water in her mind recedes as Zasha works away cleaning the mugs and teapot, content in this menial task. What form had their ritual taken? Their mother could warg into the form of a dog, this much was known. Rescuing the mother would be the surest way to answer these questions… Lord of Light protect her and her children. The heavy crossbow sitting on the table brings Zasha back to the present. The weapon was not new to Zasha, having entered herself in quite a few competitions back in the Old Country. Only recently had she begun using it to kill, however. Hunting native animals provided food for the people and chances to practice with this inelegant weapon against something more than melons and wicker targets. Off come her boots, unlaced and pulled off to be placed at the foot of her bed. Zasha stands up now and begins to unfasten her jumpsuit. First with the metal clasp at the top, then down the buttons on the front, before flexing her arms out from the long sleeves and letting the top drop below her waist. More inscriptions and patterns grace her skin, each one holding a memory of a fight won, a night of revelry, a birthday, a dare, a reminder. The lamplight plays over her skin, showing scars mixing in with the purposeful additions. He lithe form twists and turns and she stretches to help relax her mind. Gingerly she steps one leg up, then switches to the other to pull the long garment off and fold it gently under her cot. Laundry can wait until after the adventure tomorrow. She sits in only her smallclothes on the edge of her cot, eyes closed to help center her mind. The conversations of the day play out. She slowly works her way up from her feet, remembering the work of the morning, the walk through the woods, the smell of sap and decaying leaves. The growling of her stomach just before breakfast, hunger satisfied by a new type of fish caught in the river nearby the settlement, comes next. The pinkish tone of its flesh lead to the rather simplistic name of salmon, but its delicious taste after a quick trip through a campfire more than made up for the lackluster moniker. Arms and hands recall the strain of work and the thrill of the mock fight with Mr Harvey. Her heart jumps at the promise of a fight tomorrow, as well as with the sneaking uncertainty of Vaso and Huey and the strange eyed children. Here Zasha pauses her meditation to speak aloud a simple prayer, the first one she ever learned from The Reverend: Put me to what You will, Lord of Light Place me where I must be With whom I must be Put me to doing Put me to working Let me be exalted though You Let me be brought low for You Let me be full Let me be empty Let me have all things Let me have nothing
There I remain
I freely and heartily await the work that I will do
O, Lord of Light, you are with me and I am with you
So be it done
With a deep exhalation, Zasha feels the fires inside her temper, burning away with purpose and drive rather than listlessly towards fear. She unclenches her fists to see motes of flames slowly smoldering their way up and down her forearms and fingers. In the fire, she sees light and comfort. All shall be well. “Good night,” she says to no one in particular, her voice laced thick with sleep, “Tomorrow awaits.”
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Hævys Bladesmith
Committed
Roleplay posts: 61
Age: Nearing her mid-30s
Appearance: She has a dark brown, bordering on black head of hair, kept short, not reaching halfway down her neck. Her skin is a darker tan-ish shade, with grey eyes. Standing around 5'10", she has a rugged frame, used to heavy labor and working in the forge. She usually wears a pair of loose fitting pants, with a snug cloth wrap covering up her chest. While in the forge, she wears a black smith's apron as well. While her pants usually covers it, there is a large indent into her skin on her thigh, as if part of the skin had been sheared off of that area, a few layers deep.
Equipment: While a smith before she got here, most of her equipment couldn't be carried during the flood. She's lucky she got out with a few forging hammers and a pair of tongs for handling hot metal, as well as her trusty pata(a type of sword-gauntlet), for if someone attempts to cross her or steal her wares.
Skills and Abilities: A skilled blacksmith, focusing on weapons and armor, with some skill also with jewelry and building materials such as hinges or nails. As well as this, she is skilled in the magics of enchanting her wares while creating them, giving enchantments of durability, of good health, or other small enchantments to make using them easier. However, she could only do this for things she was forging, not finished works, and even then she currently refuses to enchant her works. As well as this, although she currently refuses to do it as well, she can give people permanent marks on their skin, that would not wash off no matter what, and even enchant those.
Biography: A skilled smith from a young age, Hævys loved to create. She would work with her father in his forge, learning his craft, even if many others said she couldn't, or that she shouldn't and she should be proper. Naturally, Hævys wanted to prove them wrong. After learning all she could from her father, she travelled her land, looking for the best smiths to teach her what her father could not. Eventually she'd stumble on a smith who taught her many other talents, including, most importantly, the art of enchanted forging. Upon returning home and beginning her own work, she was soon summoned to the capital, to work towards making equipment for the army. Here, she would gain the epithet of Magesmith.
As well as working for the army, she would open a small business on the side, giving people permanent marks on their skin in any design they chose, a skill she picked up on her travels. However, one day she would experiment(with a willing participant) on attempting to enchant her marks. It was a success, and word soon reached the king. Immediately, she was given a new position with the prison. She would use her marking ability to give prisoners permanent enchanted marks, ones that would seal any magical ability they possessed, as well as teaching others to do the same.
However, soon, it became apparent that many of these prisoners did not deserve their punishment, nor prison time at all. Many people were sentenced to this not only for crimes, but for things outside of their control and for speaking out against the war. Hævys could not take this, speaking out against it. As a result, she was branded a criminal and given one of the marks she taught others to make, sealing her magic as she was thrown in prison.
Eventually, she would escape, and cut the mark off of her body, barely surviving with the bloodloss and possible infection. Even though she was no longer sealed, she refused to make another mark for anybody, and refused to enchant anything anymore. She refused her old epithet and became simply Hævys Bladesmith, and opening a small, struggling smithy for a short time, before the flood hit.
Registered: Apr 12, 2021 16:43:28 GMT -5
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Post by Hævys Bladesmith on Jul 28, 2021 22:03:21 GMT -5
Hævys hobbles into the settlement with a dissatisfied look on her face, cursing herself for somehow once again losing the figure that led her here. She knew they would've had answers for her, if only she could have caught up to them.
A sharp pain in her right leg reminds her of why she couldn't have.
She sighs to herself as she looks around. No use stressing over it now. Sure, whoever that was likely was the one to send that...thing after her and the woman who she had lost upon reaching the settlement, but at the very least they had led them here, somewhere where there were other people and she could perhaps try once again to live a quiet, subdued life. She had just accomplished that back home, before...well, before it all ended. But here, she could leave it all behind her. Her life in the old capital, the hauntings of her past, the people who recognized her for her mastery of those fantastic arts that had only ever brought her pain. The only thing she would have to remind her of those days were the scars. She stopped for a second, resting near this strange building after having walked so long. Her one hand rested on a section of her belt where a hammer should have gone. She had gotten rid of it after that encounter, not wanting a tool that had been cursed that way. In her other hand, though, she clutched the note she had been given. For some reason, she had kept it. It meant no matter to her, though. She stuffed it into the pocket on the front of her blacksmith's apron, before finding a place to take a seat, carefully lowering herself down there to take a breath. Later, she could find someone here to help her settle in, but for now, she needed to get off her feet.
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Khepri Goldenfeather
Committed
Roleplay posts: 96
Appearance: Smattered in golden feathers, Khepri glimmers from dawn to dusk. Vast, dark wings, lightening to ivory toward her spine, spread outward above her broad hips, supporting an otherwise petite frame. Black hair, straight as a waterfall, surrounds a round face. She has sharp, dangerous eyes that mimic the time of day, plump lips that tell you what you want to hear, and honey-sweet skin to ease her features. The only interruption to an otherwise heavenly visage is a pair of feet with toes and a heel ending in talons.
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Registered: Mar 23, 2021 19:54:50 GMT -5
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Post by Khepri Goldenfeather on Aug 3, 2021 15:01:52 GMT -5
The Pavillion was one of the tallest buildings in the settlement thus far, and a certain feathered dame had taken to it. She did not sleep in the crowded tents offered, no. Their cots would crush her wings and tail. Instead, she kept to places higher up, somewhere she could grab onto with her talons and keep steady.
It was during one of these moments, lingering on the roof of the building, that she heard someone trudge into the space below her. Curious as to who, she took one claw onto the edge of the scaffolding and swung down sideways with her wings rotating backward to slow her fall. The wind from them was great, likely to buffer their new guest off guard.
"Oh. I don't recognize you," said Khepri, putting a hand on her cheek as she eyed the rough figure before her. "What a hefty lass you are. Let me guess: your home was flooded, and the mists carried you here?" She smirked.
"I'm Khepri. I'm a duralam. Not a harpie. Let's get that straight from the beginning."
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Hævys Bladesmith
Committed
Roleplay posts: 61
Age: Nearing her mid-30s
Appearance: She has a dark brown, bordering on black head of hair, kept short, not reaching halfway down her neck. Her skin is a darker tan-ish shade, with grey eyes. Standing around 5'10", she has a rugged frame, used to heavy labor and working in the forge. She usually wears a pair of loose fitting pants, with a snug cloth wrap covering up her chest. While in the forge, she wears a black smith's apron as well. While her pants usually covers it, there is a large indent into her skin on her thigh, as if part of the skin had been sheared off of that area, a few layers deep.
Equipment: While a smith before she got here, most of her equipment couldn't be carried during the flood. She's lucky she got out with a few forging hammers and a pair of tongs for handling hot metal, as well as her trusty pata(a type of sword-gauntlet), for if someone attempts to cross her or steal her wares.
Skills and Abilities: A skilled blacksmith, focusing on weapons and armor, with some skill also with jewelry and building materials such as hinges or nails. As well as this, she is skilled in the magics of enchanting her wares while creating them, giving enchantments of durability, of good health, or other small enchantments to make using them easier. However, she could only do this for things she was forging, not finished works, and even then she currently refuses to enchant her works. As well as this, although she currently refuses to do it as well, she can give people permanent marks on their skin, that would not wash off no matter what, and even enchant those.
Biography: A skilled smith from a young age, Hævys loved to create. She would work with her father in his forge, learning his craft, even if many others said she couldn't, or that she shouldn't and she should be proper. Naturally, Hævys wanted to prove them wrong. After learning all she could from her father, she travelled her land, looking for the best smiths to teach her what her father could not. Eventually she'd stumble on a smith who taught her many other talents, including, most importantly, the art of enchanted forging. Upon returning home and beginning her own work, she was soon summoned to the capital, to work towards making equipment for the army. Here, she would gain the epithet of Magesmith.
As well as working for the army, she would open a small business on the side, giving people permanent marks on their skin in any design they chose, a skill she picked up on her travels. However, one day she would experiment(with a willing participant) on attempting to enchant her marks. It was a success, and word soon reached the king. Immediately, she was given a new position with the prison. She would use her marking ability to give prisoners permanent enchanted marks, ones that would seal any magical ability they possessed, as well as teaching others to do the same.
However, soon, it became apparent that many of these prisoners did not deserve their punishment, nor prison time at all. Many people were sentenced to this not only for crimes, but for things outside of their control and for speaking out against the war. Hævys could not take this, speaking out against it. As a result, she was branded a criminal and given one of the marks she taught others to make, sealing her magic as she was thrown in prison.
Eventually, she would escape, and cut the mark off of her body, barely surviving with the bloodloss and possible infection. Even though she was no longer sealed, she refused to make another mark for anybody, and refused to enchant anything anymore. She refused her old epithet and became simply Hævys Bladesmith, and opening a small, struggling smithy for a short time, before the flood hit.
Registered: Apr 12, 2021 16:43:28 GMT -5
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Post by Hævys Bladesmith on Aug 3, 2021 23:05:53 GMT -5
Hævys nearly fell from her seat, a combination of the strong gusts and the shock of seeing a winged, talon-bearing person come in from the sky combining to unbalance her. Truly, the sight of this individual had caught her off guard, only ever hearing about those such as her in stories, tales to scare children away from going out into the desert at night. She had never believed them before, but after such a string of unbelievable events happening just today, Hævys would believe almost anything. After regaining her composure, Hævys looked over this strange, feathered woman. She stands to meet the duralam on even footing, her weight resting primarily on her left leg, her right one ever so slightly bent at the knee. She adjusts the toolbelt adorning her waist, keeping her apron pinned to her front. "Can't say I've ever seen either." She comments, eyes drawn mostly to the large wings adorning this new avian acquaintance.
"...Hævys." She introduces herself hesitantly, ignoring the previous comments. "And yes. But...where is 'here,' exactly?"
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Khepri Goldenfeather
Committed
Roleplay posts: 96
Appearance: Smattered in golden feathers, Khepri glimmers from dawn to dusk. Vast, dark wings, lightening to ivory toward her spine, spread outward above her broad hips, supporting an otherwise petite frame. Black hair, straight as a waterfall, surrounds a round face. She has sharp, dangerous eyes that mimic the time of day, plump lips that tell you what you want to hear, and honey-sweet skin to ease her features. The only interruption to an otherwise heavenly visage is a pair of feet with toes and a heel ending in talons.
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Registered: Mar 23, 2021 19:54:50 GMT -5
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Post by Khepri Goldenfeather on Aug 4, 2021 21:56:17 GMT -5
"Pannoa," answered Khepri, gesturing to the place. "A little camp of mostly nice people, as far as I can tell. They're a bit strange, but I know little of you poor, flightless souls." She put a finger to her chin, thinking for a moment before her eyebrows popped up. "Oh! If you're speaking of this entire land, my guess is as good as yours. From what I can tell, no one's been here longer than a few moons."
Whether or not Khepri's moons were the same as Hævys' would be an appropriate question. Not only was the duralam feathered, winged, taloned, and tailed, with hair of black and white, and freckles of ivory, but she also had eyes of a peculiar color, matching the hues of the sky. If Hævyslooked closer, she would see that it wasn't just a reflection.
The woman thrived on the attention, especially since it didn't cause the blacksmith to immediately try to slay her. She spread her wings a bit more wide, showing them off.
"Glorious, aren't they? I know."
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Hævys Bladesmith
Committed
Roleplay posts: 61
Age: Nearing her mid-30s
Appearance: She has a dark brown, bordering on black head of hair, kept short, not reaching halfway down her neck. Her skin is a darker tan-ish shade, with grey eyes. Standing around 5'10", she has a rugged frame, used to heavy labor and working in the forge. She usually wears a pair of loose fitting pants, with a snug cloth wrap covering up her chest. While in the forge, she wears a black smith's apron as well. While her pants usually covers it, there is a large indent into her skin on her thigh, as if part of the skin had been sheared off of that area, a few layers deep.
Equipment: While a smith before she got here, most of her equipment couldn't be carried during the flood. She's lucky she got out with a few forging hammers and a pair of tongs for handling hot metal, as well as her trusty pata(a type of sword-gauntlet), for if someone attempts to cross her or steal her wares.
Skills and Abilities: A skilled blacksmith, focusing on weapons and armor, with some skill also with jewelry and building materials such as hinges or nails. As well as this, she is skilled in the magics of enchanting her wares while creating them, giving enchantments of durability, of good health, or other small enchantments to make using them easier. However, she could only do this for things she was forging, not finished works, and even then she currently refuses to enchant her works. As well as this, although she currently refuses to do it as well, she can give people permanent marks on their skin, that would not wash off no matter what, and even enchant those.
Biography: A skilled smith from a young age, Hævys loved to create. She would work with her father in his forge, learning his craft, even if many others said she couldn't, or that she shouldn't and she should be proper. Naturally, Hævys wanted to prove them wrong. After learning all she could from her father, she travelled her land, looking for the best smiths to teach her what her father could not. Eventually she'd stumble on a smith who taught her many other talents, including, most importantly, the art of enchanted forging. Upon returning home and beginning her own work, she was soon summoned to the capital, to work towards making equipment for the army. Here, she would gain the epithet of Magesmith.
As well as working for the army, she would open a small business on the side, giving people permanent marks on their skin in any design they chose, a skill she picked up on her travels. However, one day she would experiment(with a willing participant) on attempting to enchant her marks. It was a success, and word soon reached the king. Immediately, she was given a new position with the prison. She would use her marking ability to give prisoners permanent enchanted marks, ones that would seal any magical ability they possessed, as well as teaching others to do the same.
However, soon, it became apparent that many of these prisoners did not deserve their punishment, nor prison time at all. Many people were sentenced to this not only for crimes, but for things outside of their control and for speaking out against the war. Hævys could not take this, speaking out against it. As a result, she was branded a criminal and given one of the marks she taught others to make, sealing her magic as she was thrown in prison.
Eventually, she would escape, and cut the mark off of her body, barely surviving with the bloodloss and possible infection. Even though she was no longer sealed, she refused to make another mark for anybody, and refused to enchant anything anymore. She refused her old epithet and became simply Hævys Bladesmith, and opening a small, struggling smithy for a short time, before the flood hit.
Registered: Apr 12, 2021 16:43:28 GMT -5
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Post by Hævys Bladesmith on Aug 5, 2021 20:22:22 GMT -5
Pannoa, a new camp on an unknown land, just as in the dark as her. Just her luck. If not for wanting to put on a good impression in a new land, she would grimace at the fact. And no one having been here for more than a few moons? The way she voiced that fact made it seem like such a measure of time couldn't be too far from her own, and yet everything else about this person was so odd, who was to say this wasn't another to add to the pile? Her eyes were no surprise, when in the king's employ(she shudders internally at the reminiscence), she had seen foreign nobles with eyes of mint and purple, and mercenaries she had to arm with theirs a burgundy hue, so blue was not so out of the ordinary. Her attention was still set on the much larger oddities anyways. Particularly the wings.
"Peculiar was the phrase I was going to use, but if you'd prefer." Hævys responds, finally drinking in enough of her visage and looking into Khepri's eyes. "Where I am from one is lucky to have four working limbs, let alone extras. So forgive me if I stare."
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Khepri Goldenfeather
Committed
Roleplay posts: 96
Appearance: Smattered in golden feathers, Khepri glimmers from dawn to dusk. Vast, dark wings, lightening to ivory toward her spine, spread outward above her broad hips, supporting an otherwise petite frame. Black hair, straight as a waterfall, surrounds a round face. She has sharp, dangerous eyes that mimic the time of day, plump lips that tell you what you want to hear, and honey-sweet skin to ease her features. The only interruption to an otherwise heavenly visage is a pair of feet with toes and a heel ending in talons.
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Registered: Mar 23, 2021 19:54:50 GMT -5
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Post by Khepri Goldenfeather on Aug 6, 2021 21:05:30 GMT -5
Khepri gave a singular, high laugh at Haevys' comment.
"I understand. It's the shock! None of the denizens here were familiar with the duralam's gifts, either. Stare all you want... until it gets annoying. I'll let you know." Though she said it seriously, she finished it with a smirk. "Come. Perhaps you are parched. Even starved! There's enough food to go around, and the people are more than generous. I do ask for some form of payment, though. A story? Your story. Where do you hail?"
Before the blacksmith could respond, Khepri began to walk. She took her strut at the tips of her toes, avoiding crushing the talon on her heel.
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Hævys Bladesmith
Committed
Roleplay posts: 61
Age: Nearing her mid-30s
Appearance: She has a dark brown, bordering on black head of hair, kept short, not reaching halfway down her neck. Her skin is a darker tan-ish shade, with grey eyes. Standing around 5'10", she has a rugged frame, used to heavy labor and working in the forge. She usually wears a pair of loose fitting pants, with a snug cloth wrap covering up her chest. While in the forge, she wears a black smith's apron as well. While her pants usually covers it, there is a large indent into her skin on her thigh, as if part of the skin had been sheared off of that area, a few layers deep.
Equipment: While a smith before she got here, most of her equipment couldn't be carried during the flood. She's lucky she got out with a few forging hammers and a pair of tongs for handling hot metal, as well as her trusty pata(a type of sword-gauntlet), for if someone attempts to cross her or steal her wares.
Skills and Abilities: A skilled blacksmith, focusing on weapons and armor, with some skill also with jewelry and building materials such as hinges or nails. As well as this, she is skilled in the magics of enchanting her wares while creating them, giving enchantments of durability, of good health, or other small enchantments to make using them easier. However, she could only do this for things she was forging, not finished works, and even then she currently refuses to enchant her works. As well as this, although she currently refuses to do it as well, she can give people permanent marks on their skin, that would not wash off no matter what, and even enchant those.
Biography: A skilled smith from a young age, Hævys loved to create. She would work with her father in his forge, learning his craft, even if many others said she couldn't, or that she shouldn't and she should be proper. Naturally, Hævys wanted to prove them wrong. After learning all she could from her father, she travelled her land, looking for the best smiths to teach her what her father could not. Eventually she'd stumble on a smith who taught her many other talents, including, most importantly, the art of enchanted forging. Upon returning home and beginning her own work, she was soon summoned to the capital, to work towards making equipment for the army. Here, she would gain the epithet of Magesmith.
As well as working for the army, she would open a small business on the side, giving people permanent marks on their skin in any design they chose, a skill she picked up on her travels. However, one day she would experiment(with a willing participant) on attempting to enchant her marks. It was a success, and word soon reached the king. Immediately, she was given a new position with the prison. She would use her marking ability to give prisoners permanent enchanted marks, ones that would seal any magical ability they possessed, as well as teaching others to do the same.
However, soon, it became apparent that many of these prisoners did not deserve their punishment, nor prison time at all. Many people were sentenced to this not only for crimes, but for things outside of their control and for speaking out against the war. Hævys could not take this, speaking out against it. As a result, she was branded a criminal and given one of the marks she taught others to make, sealing her magic as she was thrown in prison.
Eventually, she would escape, and cut the mark off of her body, barely surviving with the bloodloss and possible infection. Even though she was no longer sealed, she refused to make another mark for anybody, and refused to enchant anything anymore. She refused her old epithet and became simply Hævys Bladesmith, and opening a small, struggling smithy for a short time, before the flood hit.
Registered: Apr 12, 2021 16:43:28 GMT -5
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Post by Hævys Bladesmith on Aug 9, 2021 11:39:17 GMT -5
Food. With all the excitement, Hævys had almost forgotten that she hadn't eaten since arrival, and the mention of food made her realized that she was famished. She followed behind Khepri, doing her best to keep up with the avian lady's stride. "My story?" She asks, trying to think of the best way to tell the tale, or at least the parts she was comfortable sharing.
"I was a blacksmith," She begins after a short moment, "from the country of Sesæria. It was a large kingdom, built in sands nobody else wanted and expanding into dying lands nobody else cared about. Anyhow, I was one of the best. Even worked directly for the king as court smith...for a time." Her gaze turns downwards, her hand brushing near the site of her scar. "Let us just say that didn't end well. Eventually, I returned to a small town away from the capital. Made a small business there. Worked there until The Waters. Then I ended up here. As far as I can tell, not many from my home survived. I was barely conscious when I saw the waves engulf the capital. More water than most of that country had seen in their lifetime, swallowing up the capital. Good riddance if you ask me." She tells her tale, voice going down to a mutter for the last line.
Not one to like the spotlight, Hævys took the chance to move it away from herself. "And you? Do you have an interesting story of your own?"
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