Faisine D'Arcy
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 101
Appearance: Hair: Blonde, almost a white blonde
Eyes: Piercing blue
Height: 5'2"
Build: Slender
Features: Noble
Age: 24
Equipment: Eating Dagger
The clothing on her back
Staff
Citole
Rope
Grappling Hook
Tent
Utilities such as pots and pans, other dishes
Skills and Abilities: She is a singer, with a very lovely voice. She was trained as a spellsong but she does that no more.
Biography: History: Lady Faisine was born in the lost kingdom of Verri, but she was raised in a cloister (Not nuns, but yes, women who were very religious nevertheless). She has little to no memory of Verri and spent most of her days learning to be a lady... To speak like a lady, to embroider, to sing and pluck a tune on a lute like a lady... How very dull and drab. She had, nevertheless, been pampered, for her father had donated generously and made it clear that she was to be a lady, not a servant. She had her own servants, they did everything for her. The cloister was raided and many lives were lost, and now she finds herself traveling alone for parts unknown.
She has known lots of war.
Then she met her mate, Cairex, and they set off into the Usque, only to be torn apart by the cataclysm...
Registered: Mar 22, 2021 13:59:40 GMT -5
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Post by Faisine D'Arcy on Jun 14, 2021 15:21:00 GMT -5
Faisine took a seat as well, taking the water, not looking at either of her companions. She was quiet for a moment as she considered the question, "I came by long boat after a great flood. Then there were mists... and then I was on the island." It was as simple as that. She was emotionally spent at the moment, having been in the mood for a few days. Mostly, she was tired.
She looked over toward Anatolius first, eyes half mast as she seemed to be deep in thought, and then toward Khepri. "I will be looking for more survivors, and I am sure they will have the same type of story. I am sorry if it isn't much help." She ran her fingers over her knees through the leather of her breeches.
Her gaze then shifted toward the Reverend and she raked her fingers through her hair. She seemed to be fidgety at the moment, but she didn't like crowds... not since Goraia.
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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 24, 2021 14:40:02 GMT -5
Of course, even when exhausted, sleep does not come easily to a beleaguered mind. Hours after she first rested her head on the thin pillow, Zasha is wide awake again. A few tosses and turns do nothing to shake loose the memories of what Vasco and Huey said earlier in the day. The cot underneath does not welcome Zasha back into the embrace of sleep.
How late was it?
Feet touch the rough wool of the carpet covering the floor of the tent. Zasha groans and stands upwards, hands igniting with a soft glow. With a snap, Zasha sends a thin stream of fire winging towards the extinguished wick of the nearby table lamp.
There was no point in trying to force herself back to sleep now. Zasha yawns futilely and whispers aloud “I don’t suppose dad would still be awake to chat, eh?”
The folded bundle of clothes fails to respond as Zasha pulls on thick woolen stockings, followed by a pair of breeches cut short above the knee. Then goes a tightly wound wrap around her chest, serving to strap herself in a bit before the combat that will surely come later in the day, keeping her chest in its place and out of the way. Over this goes a woefully undersized sleeveless tunic cut off at the midriff. Its length serves to show off her tattoos nicely. Her usual green-blue jumpsuit finishes the look, zipped all the way up to her neck. Its various straps and belts stiffly slightly as Zasha loops and ties and commects them up.
Rather than don the short leather boots she normally wears, Zasha instead begins to lace up a heavy pair of boots with wicked hobnails set into the undersides of the shoes. A similarly weighty pair of gloves cover her hands, metal bands reflecting the candlelight.
Zasha pulls open the flaps to her tent. Outside, the quiet night air stirs with the murmurs of a midnight breeze. Sweet aromas of the flower fields surrounding the hills on the south and east sides of the camp drift along, mixing with the smoke of burned out campfires.
Over her shoulder goes the strap of her massive crossbow. Several quarrels of bolts clip onto the belt around her waist. A puff of breath snuffs out the little table lamp, leaving Zasha’s smoldering fingers on her left hand casting bright light to guide her way.
She takes a winding route through the camp in order to fully take in the cool night breeze. Her thoughts sort out the order of what happened when, what questions lead to what answers, and the ultimate revelation of the day: Vampyrs here in the new world.
Long strides take Zasha to the base of the large platform supporting the Reverend’s work tent. The daytime throngs of people speaking with the Reverend are gone now, leaving only the man himself inside working away at his desk. The glow of lamplight under the tent’s main flap betrays his literal burning of some midnight oil.
Zasha steps closer and lets out a soft whistle, mimicking the Capistrano Swallows from the Old Country. Zasha remembered how the Reverend taught her and her brother the different songs of the birds, and to use them as non-verbal cues when talking would distract him too much from his work. There she waits, perched on the doorstep in her clunky boots, dressed in her work clothes, armed with a crossbow and a head full of questions. Even so, Zasha envisions her father as the tall man he was when she was much younger. Her heart glows with the anticipation and excitement she always felt whenever she told her dad about what she had gotten up to during the day.
Sure, he might not have always been the most pleased with her choice of leisure activities, or the times she got into fights instead of doing chores, or when she challenged the entirety of Longshoremen’s Association Post #32 to an arm wrestling competition, or… Regardless of all that, the gleam in his eyes and the tender words of teaching and mock reproach let Zasha know then she was dearly loved by the old man. And that same love, thankfully, continues on today.
Where would I be without you, dad?
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Anatolius
Committed
Roleplay posts: 53
Appearance: On the border of youth and middle age, blond-brown hair at points starts greying (giving it a look of a more solid blond) and wrinkles form from stress and too much sun on an otherwise young face.
Registered: Apr 9, 2021 22:01:35 GMT -5
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Post by Anatolius on Jun 30, 2021 0:42:04 GMT -5
Anatolius took the glass that was offered to him and greedily downed its entire contents in but two meaty gulps. Seeing that Khepri was busy talking to the Reverend, he made sure that the proverb of waste not want not was thoroughly applied as thumb and index finger closed around the glass of the fellow leaving with the refreshments she was too distracted to take. In the full plate designed for his bear-like build he found himself struggling in the seat nearly as much or perhaps even more so than his feathered acquaintance. But when at last comfortable he relaxed. The chair melted away some of the years in his eyes even as it creaked slightly.
"Hmmm?" It was his turn, and after a moment to collect himself Anatolius elaborated upon his arrival to the Mistborne Isles with a shrug to begin. "I was in a desert. I am ashamed to say I was bested by one absolute bastard who I'll find if he... it yet lives. But a sandstorm came, not any sandstorm I had seen before. Like a great bucket of the stuff in the sky was emptying. Narrowly saved me from having my head a good distance from the rest of my body. Thus I awoke in the woods some distance from here, rather more recently than either of my companions here. Then, the present. You Sir I take it had a more nautical arrival like the Ladies did?"
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