Story An Afterlife for the Fallen

[Monday]

Okay, so the title is a bit dramatic, but basically this is a place for me to write further about my favorite characters belonging to RPs that have died, inspired by ashwynne's "A Collection of Character Vignettes". One character in particular has captured my prolonged interest, but depending on how inspired I'm feeling, I may post about another of my favorites from a different site. I hope you enjoy.

 

[Monday]

Kamar Ida

Fantasy - The Hunt [Bronze Age Fantasy][O/A]

Location: Confederation Roost, Valkonia Time: Morning Interactions: @Archie @Lilliana2 @Avi-Sina As Horang's mind generated more details to flesh out his lie, he visibly relaxed, sliding comfortably into the ruse and letting go of the false charisma on which he'd relied to prop him up until...

www.rpnation.com

So this character is actually a side character without an official CS, who came about because of my primary character's background. However, there's a cool scene with him that I was about to type out just before the roleplay ended.

"Your daughter is chosen," the High Priest replied.

Chosen. Yes, that was what he had been expecting- and dreading- the most since Arkrath had bowed before Zarashi, even as he'd remained in denial. The time was right. Even so, the pronouncement fell like the blow of an executioner's sword. As his hand dropped to his side and his nails dug deeper and deeper into the diary he held, crumpling the cover and the pages within, he stared directly at his cousin, directly through him and beyond, seeing all of his carefully crafted plans for his daughter's future, for his future, unraveling thread by thread. His rigid posture and the slight twitching of his jaw muscles were were the only indications he was experiencing any emotion at all. Inside his mind, however, the turmoil that ensued told a different story. In handing Zarashi over to another man, he would be giving up his most trusted ally and his most valuable asset. She was his spy, his vassal, his confidant, his strong right hand. Neither of his foolish sons could compare to her brilliance. In some ways, she may have surpassed even him- although he would never allow himself to admit it. Since birth, he had built her up in his own image- had forged her into the perfect weapon. By rights, she was his alone to wield! Only he knew her strengths and how best to utilize them; only he knew her weaknesses and how best to negate them.

And now Irudin would relegate his finest weapon to a mere vessel for childbearing! An ordinary woman, fit only to manage the household and to be bedded at her husband's whim!

Irudin be damned. It was blasphemy, he knew- but at the moment he could scarcely see past his rage.

"A great honor," Arkrath was saying. "And unlike some who came before her, she is strong enough to endure it." While his cousin turned to face the window, the faint scent of burnt leather began to permeate the room as Kamar's magic flooded through him, smoke curling from the fingertips he pressed against the Record of the Holy Seances and pouring out of his clenched fist. The flame of the lamp stopped sputtering and flared high and bright. Marriage had never quite been out of the question for Zarashi- after all, any offspring she would produce was bound to make a better heir to his name than Vareth or Taran- but now the God he'd so faithfully served throughout his entire life saw fit to strip even that away from him. Well, if he got nothing else out of her for the rest of her life, he would at least ensure she conceived another son!

"You underestimate Horang. Everything he has done has benefited him, but it has also benefitted the Clan," the High Priest droned on, indulging yet again in his habitual self-deception. Kamar felt his gut clench. Without Zarashi, dealing with his antagonistic nephew would be at least twice as difficult. After allowing him to believe since early childhood that he was destined for the Archonship, was Irudin now determined to undermine him at every turn? "In that respect, he is no different than you and I. An ideal human in the image of Irudin should not be free of self-interest. As for the results, Valko is dead, and no one suspects foul play. The Karal are marching to their deaths, and we are finally..." here he clenched his fist for emphasis, betraying one of his characteristic changes of mood- "on the cusp of achieving Irudin's mission."

The Minister of Temples was barely listening, still fixated on his own dilemma. His anger veered suddenly toward his daughter. How long has she known? How long has she been keeping this from me?! She ought to have come to me first... I did not raise her to keep secrets from her own father!

Kamar finally regained a measure of composure, ignoring Arkrath as he said something about the Vice Minister of Proglia being a heretic, and dropped the sacred diary just before it would have burst into flame.

"Do not speak to me of honor," he said, his voice low and quivering dangerously, as he strode toward his cousin. "Do not speak to me of my daughter's strength! What strength does she possess that is not my own?! What talent, what merit of hers is not the result either of my seed or of my instruction? She is my child. Her strength belongs to me!" His face was directly in front of Arkrath's and his voice had been rising steadily as he spoke; now he seemed to check himself as he drew back and shook his head. "Ah, forgive me, cousin. I have not shown the proper respect. For who can fathom the ways of our mighty Irudin? No doubt I should also be honored that he has chosen one of my own." His tone was laced with bitter sarcasm. With that, he offered a slight, crisp bow, turned, picked up the diary, and strode from the room. As he approached the doorway, he said over his shoulder, "Now, if you'll excuse me, cousin, I have your war to fight."

 

[Monday]

Zarashi Ida​

Though my time with her was short, Zarashi is perhaps my favorite roleplay character of all time, with only one competitor coming to mind. Interestingly, although their personalities have their differences, both of these characters were villains in their respective stories (at least part of the time), both were highly ruthless and ambitious individuals, both were highly intelligent (though I'd say Zarashi holds the high ground in this regard), both had a difficult time connecting with others, and both had complicated relationships with their parents. I'm starting to sense a theme... I've noticed that the characters I grow most attached to tend to be a reflection of my own emotions and inner struggles at the time. When I created Ryn, the other character I mentioned, I was going through a period of low self-esteem and confidence, and this is outwardly apparent in the character's lust for power and recognition as a way to compensate for her insecurities. At the same time I was intrigued by the question of how I would have turned out under different circumstances. So I created a character with my basic personality traits, but gave her a significantly harsher, lonelier childhood (and superpowers), which resulted in a significantly different moral compass and set of values. In Zarashi's case, I'd recently discovered the show Avatar: The Last Airbender and took heavy inspiration from the character of Azula and her relationship with her parents, but I also think I was feeling stifled and starved of intellectual stimulation in my everyday life and sought an outlet by creating a metaphorical chessmaster. Anyway, enough of my babbling. Now for the story!

A bit of backstory here: at the beginning of The Hunt, Zarashi received a prophetic dream from the god of her people, informing her that she was the "Chosen"- a woman from each generation who was required to give up her firstborn son as a sacrifice by dropping him into the volcano. The reasons Irudin demanded this sacrifice are as of yet unknown. The following is a series of vignettes on how I predict she would have dealt with the prospect of marriage had the roleplay gotten to that point.


Zarashi had lain awake for hours by the time her maidservant pulled back the curtains of her balcony to flood the room with the light of dawn. Despite this, she felt weak and listless, and, perhaps for the first time in her life, was unwilling to rise at once. But it was unbecoming of an Ida to show weakness. Reluctantly, she heaved a sigh, stretched, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and flung open the curtains of her canopy. Thus concluded the last night she was ever to spend in this room.

As she snapped her fingers, lighting the various lamps and candles placed throughout the room, an alien landscape met her eyes. All of her books, scrolls, maps, tapestries and weapons had been packed away and sent to her husband's home, leaving only bare walls looming ominously over her in the jumping light of the flames. She had not realized her chamber was this large before. Only her vanity remained off to one side, various powders and lotions already arranged across the surface, her wardrobe in the corner, and in the center of the room stood a lone chair with a folded set of robes and a screen with her wedding garments draped over it, their pitch black color seemingly draining the light from the room. Black, the color of night, represented Irudin's wife, the Moon Spirit. Zarashi thought it seemed appropriately dour. She rose from her bed and stood staring at them for a long while, trying and failing to process all the myriad ways in which her life was about to change.

Eventually a thin, quavering voice broke through her reverie. "Um... My Lady... will you eat?" Zarashi whipped around, startled, and noticed a tray of food sitting on her bedside table. She stared for a moment, uncomprehending, trying to shake the fog of exhaustion from her brain. Apparently the maid had brought in her breakfast without her even noticing. "My Lady... you will need your strength-"

"Yes, I heard!" she snapped. "Tell the others to wait for me in the courtyard. You are dismissed." The small dryad gave a trembling bow and fled. Zarashi wandered back to the bed and sat down, but in the end was only able to drink the bowl of broth and toy with the rest of her food. It was slim pickings anyway- eating heavily before a wedding was considered bad luck. She waited what she thought was a reasonable amount of time, changed from her sleeping shift into her robe, slipped on her sandals, and made her way to the courtyard, where the professional entourage hired to prepare her for the day was waiting to take her to the public baths before they became crowded. Fortunately no one else was there as she mechanically went through the motions of bathing and allowed the women to treat her hair and skin, although the matron of the group had a rather irritating habit of trying to make small talk and showering her with compliments. Suspecting the woman was trying to earn extra payment through flattery, after the fifth comment on her hair Zarashi threatened to set her hair on fire if she wouldn't hold her tongue. Everything went smoothly after that.

Back at her chambers, she was obligated to sit still for hours while the women painted her face and arranged her hair. Normally, she wore only lipstick and a small amount of eyeliner, and the additional layers of makeup had an unpleasant, caked-on feel. However, she was also relieved that her unhealthy pallor and the circles beneath her eyes would not be visible. Above all, she had to portray strength. Once this was done, she dismissed them, being perfectly capable of dressing herself. After they had filed out of the room and closed the door behind them, she rose and looked at her reflection in the polished bronze mirror. Beneath a crown of intricate braids, her face was a smooth light cream color, signaling wealth and affluence; her eyes were shadowed a deep reddish-purple, and designs had been painted in red ochre on both her cheeks to symbolize the moon and the sun. Her upper lip was colored red with only a small vertical stripe in the center of the bottom lip. Altogether she looked elegant, regal- and nothing like herself. Gone was the young woman who found herself most at home in the training arena or on the battlefield.

Suddenly unnerved by the image she saw in the mirror, she turned away from the vanity and walked over to the screen that held her wedding clothes. Though the day was warm, she felt a sudden chill as her familiar red and gold robe dropped to the floor, and it was very slowly and with reluctance that she pulled the long black shift and flowing tunic over her head. Both were embroidered with gold thread at the hems, and the tunic's flowing split sleeves were each fastened with a heavy broach in the center of her upper arm. That done, she strode over to the wardrobe and opened it to reveal a ceremonial breastplate of polished bronze, carefully lifting it over her head and tightening the straps around her midsection. The piece had been passed down in the Ida clan for generations, and had once belonged to her father, though it had not fit him since he was a very young man. She'd secretly had it resized to fit her in preparation for today. Though it certainly wasn't traditional, for all she knew, it could be the last time she ever wore armor, and she was determined to make the most of it. Next she placed the veil of sheer black fabric over her head, then, eschewing the more ornate headpiece that had already been laid out for her, secured it with her usual gold circlet, admiring it's strong, clean lines. With these personal touches, it was as though she were declaring to the world- and to herself- that although this path was not what she would have wanted, she was making it her own by choosing to go through with it of her own volition, and not as a slave to the whims of fate.

A soft knock sounded at the door. "This had better be important," she called, throwing her veil back from her face. "I specifically requested not to be disturbed." The door slowly creaked open on it's hinges, and the person Zarashi least expected to see stepped out from behind it. Narumae Ida, Lady of the House of Kamar. Her mother. A confusing mixture of emotions roiled in her stomach along with her half eaten meal. "What do you want?" she asked irritably and turned to the mirror, pretending to tuck in a loose wisp of hair.

"You look beautiful," Narumae offered hesitantly. Zarashi made no reply.

"I know that... I know we haven't been very close as mother and daughter..." Zarashi hated the way she talked about the state of their relationship as though it were something that had just happened; as though it wasn't anyone's fault. "But... I needed to be here for you, on today of all days."

"So because I'm getting married, you suddenly decide to care? Is this what you need to do to feel good about yourself? Well, do what you want. I don't care. Just know that I don't need anything from you, and I never have." Zarashi continued to inspect her makeup as though she'd only been talking about the weather.

A pained expression flickered across Narumae's face and she rocked on her heels, hesitating, before stepping quickly forward and placing a small object on the vanity, then quickly retreating as though she might be burned. Zarashi glanced down to see a gold pendant shaped like the head of a bull, Irudin's sacred animal, devouring a silver crescent moon. It was a fertility charm, commonly worn by brides on the day of their wedding. She supposed she ought to do something to ensure her fertility, but the act of devouring was not a metaphor she found at all comforting.

"I wore it when I married your father." Again, Zarashi responded with stony silence. Narumae evidently perceived this as a gesture of goodwill, as she was now stepping toward Zarashi and reaching out a hand to help adjust her veil. "Zarashi... despite what has happened between us, you must know that I do care about you. What mother wouldn't love her own dau-" Zarashi stiffened at her mother's touch, a white-hot jolt of rage running through her body, and she seized the woman's wrist and tossed it aside.

"Get out." Her voice was a low, threatening growl. Startled, Narumae backed away, but showed no signs of leaving. "Get out!" The Lady of the house sighed wearily and left the room, closing the door softly behind her. It seemed to Zarashi that everything the woman did was soft, yielding, unassuming- a display of passive aggression, she assumed. Always pretending to be kind and well-meaning and innocent, just to make her feel guilty. It was weak, it was cowardly, and it was driving her mad. And foolish! Did she even know what Zarashi could do to her if she chose?! As Narumae's footsteps faded, she let out a frustrated yell, violently swept all the cosmetics off the vanity and onto the floor, and stood there panting for a moment. Presently, the she noticed the fertility amulet gleaming amidst the mess, and bent down to retrieve it. Without quite knowing why, she found herself fastening it around her neck and looking at herself in the mirror. It didn't look half bad against the armor, and regardless of where it had come from, she had to admit that wearing it wasn't such a terrible idea...

She was still debating whether or not to leave it on when another knock came at the door. "My Lady, Lord Kamar and your family are waiting for you in the courtyard." After a second more of deliberation, she jerked it sharply from her neck, breaking the chain, tossed it onto the bed, flung open the door, and left her childhood abode without a backward glance. She may have been headed toward domestic life, but it was in her father's footsteps that she would follow, in whatever ways she could.

The others had already mounted their palanquins by the time she reached the courtyard. Only Kamar stood to greet her, scanning her attire critically before dismissing it with a shrug. The disappointed look in his eye brought to mind the time he'd confronted her about keeping her chosen status from him. It's a thousand pities you couldn't have been born a man! his voice echoed in her mind. She cast her eyes downward and stepped into her palanquin.

The ride there was short, and since the lower classes had caught wind that a wedding was taking place, she couldn't say it was dull. Their little parade was cheered on by crowds of peasants throwing flowers, singing, and playing instruments. The market square was packed with vendors hoping to cater to the crowd. As they dismounted at the front stairs of the temple, the commotion began to fade. As she reached the top of the stairs she caught sight of her soon to be husband, Raktan Ishtar, looking very suitable in his traditional white and gold regalia. He looked at her appraisingly, and she thought he was pleased. She'd only met him once before, when he'd come to their home to settle the bride price with her father. Tradition had dictated that she pour the wine for the men, a task which she had performed with exaggerated care and elegance, all while hating every second of it. He was attractive, she supposed, and polite, and looked strong; though she hadn't been able to form much of an impression beyond that. More importantly, at least in her father's eyes, he came from a noble family with Ida in their bloodline from several generations back. According to him, this would increase their children's chances of receiving fire magic. The mention of "children", in plural, still had Zarashi somewhat alarmed.

The wedding took place just in front of the great doors of the Temple, officiated by her uncle Arkrath, the High Priest- a great honor. Mostly, however, she was surprised by how quickly it was over. First she struggled not to cough while an attending priest doused them with smoke from the incense, then she waited patiently while he waved a branch from a tree sacred to Irudin around her as Arkrath whispered prayers for good health and fertility, then Kamar stepped forward and used a ribbon to bind hers and Raktan's wrists together, neither meeting her eyes nor quite managing to keep the crinkle of distaste from the corner of his mouth. After this Arkrath placed his hand over theirs and spoke his blessing, then another priest came forward and handed a goblet of wine to Raktan, who took a sip and handed it to her. She took a sip and handed it off to an acolyte. Another acolyte came forward and handed Raktan a ring, which he slid over her finger before lifting the veil from her face, and together they held their bound hands over a flaming brazier until the bindings crumbled to ash and fell into the fire. Despite possessing no fire magic, Raktan didn't even flinch at the proximity of the heat to his skin.

Zarashi had expected to feel more emotion once the ceremony was concluded, but she seemed to have exhausted her emotions earlier in the day and was now only concerned with getting out of the sun. She was beginning to sweat in her black clothes, and was afraid her makeup would run.

Everyone now paraded back to Raktan's house, he and Zarashi leading the procession, for a celebration to be held in his garden pavilion. Zarashi conducted herself admirably throughout, charming her husband's parents and relatives, making small talk with strangers, dancing until her feet ached, and generally being bitterly, savagely cheerful and poised. After the meal Raktan mentioned casually that he knew several traditional sword dances, so Zarashi challenged him to perform one with her to the delight of their guests. He was surprisingly competent. As night fell, Zarashi (after having slightly more wine than she was accustomed to) variously shocked, scandalized, delighted, and thrilled everyone present by disappearing inside to change into more comfortable- and revealing- clothing and then performing a fast-paced, intricate dance on a bed of hot coals. She was fully aware of everyone's eyes on her, and reveled in it. This was meant to be one final gasp of freedom, power, and control before accepting her fate. At the close of the evening, she proposed a toast, "to the future of the Great Volcano Tribe". After all, wasn't that the entire reason she was here?

As the last guests were trickling out to their waiting palanquins, carriages, and chariots, her uncle Arkrath whispered in her ear as he passed, "Stay strong, Zarashi. It is courage like yours that will bring the Volcano Tribe into it's full glory." He was gone before she could respond.

No one besides herself seemed to understand what she had sacrificed for her people. If he was wrong, and all of this amounted to nothing in the end, she swore to herself that she would hunt him down one day and burn out his throat.

 

[Monday]

Well, what do you know. This thread exists! I'd totally forgotten I'd created it until I decided to read over some old roleplay posts today. Since I'd mentioned this character, Ryn Andresson, earlier, I decided to go ahead and post this old piece from back in 2018(?). Originally, this was part of a roleplay on another site, the sequel to a generic superpowered school roleplay which dealt with the aftermath of a reality-warping apocalypse. In the first roleplay, my character had joined a criminal organization, thinking it would be a better outlet for her talents, and become a mole within the school. In the sequel, she was performing reconnaissance outside the organization's emergency bunker where she was posted, and happened to run into a mutant with radioactive powers, who, if I remember correctly, was the result of an experiment and was currently on the run. Since he seemed like a decent guy, she decided to let him go, performing perhaps her first unselfish act in many years. Unfortunately, her superior, a sadistic telepath, showed up at that moment and forced her to help him fight and capture the mutant, after which she was punished summarily for her rebellion. All at once the illusion of prestige and freedom was stripped away, and it became very clear that she had always been a mere pawn in the organization's schemes, a naive child in over her head. This provokes a turning point in her character arc.


As it happens, remedial training has less to do with actual training, and more to do with being under observation 24/7, and the negative reinforcement of desirable thought patterns... a.k.a., Scorn making sure I'm aware of his presence at all times, even when he's elsewhere in the compound. I begin to wonder if he has a life. That thought earns me a stab of mental pain, needless to say.

Some of my time is spent going over proper behavior in every scenario that could ever possibly happen in any reality with a short-tempered instructor. Some of my time is spent in virtual reality simulations, where I sacrifice myself in what seems like hundreds of different ways, some of them quite gruesome. Not that it makes a difference. I know they're artifically constructed scenarios meant to drill an object lesson into my head, but even if they were real, I care so little about my life now that the hard part is putting up a fight beforehand. Even when they inject me with a drug that increases adrenaline to induce fear and panic, I still pass the tests in the same robotic fashion. Perform the desired actions, die, repeat.

Most of my time, however, is spent in a blank white cell, staring at the wall. There is nothing in the way of furniture, there are cameras in every corner, and the lights never turn off. If I want to use the bathroom, I have to wait for an escort. I eat. I wait for the drugs to wear off. I try to sleep in spite of the hard concrete and glaring light. I lose track of the time of day, and how many days have passed. I try not to think anything that might bring consequences. I try not to think at all. Easier said than done. I wonder if sleep deprivation is meant to be another way to keep me under control. I wonder about what's happening to the mutant. I know they're going to dispose of him, though I don't know when or how. I wouldn't be able to do anything, even if I did know. Perhaps they already have. Although I never meant for it to happen, I consider his death as being on my hands. If he'd never run into me, he wouldn't be in this situation. No matter how I look at it, that fact remains.

One more death among the innocent civilian deaths I've already caused. I regret that I'll never know his name. Why does a single death matter so much to a cold blooded killer like me? I wonder.

I wonder about a lot of things. Physical hardship and an extreme lack of intellectual stimulus apparently has a way of bringing subconscious conflicts to the surface.

I wonder about the other students at the Academy; how many of them are still alive. I wonder about the lighthearted camaraderie they'd shared with each other, something I'd consciously dismissed as pointless and not worth engaging in during the time I was with them. But was it possible that I'd secretly longed for it, even envied it? How many of them had considered me a friend, while I'd either considered them a means to an end, or not worth my time? Every single one of them. Only Damien was a possible exception.

I'm surprised to realize now that I wish I'd gotten to know them better for their own sakes. After all, isn't that what I've always wanted for myself, deep down? I thought what I wanted was to get the recognition I deserved for my talents. But is it possible that what I really wanted, that what I still want, is approval; not for what I can do for someone else, but for who I am? Is it possible that all I was really looking for was genuine acceptance, a sense of belonging? That seems right. The true motivation that led me down this path in the first place. How different would things be now if I had turned to my fellow students instead, who had seemed more than willing to extend the offer of friendship? Very, very different. But instead, like the idiot I am, I had to shut them out for no real reason and run off to join a gang.

Why am I so eager for acceptance and approval in the first place? Perhaps because I've never gotten any. At least, none that was genuine. I was never good enough for my parents, and my so-called friends certainly didn't stick around because of my winning personality. Amazing that I've never made this connection before.

I wonder, for the first time, what it means to be a hero, and what drives people to do it. It takes someone stronger, braver, and more selfless than I am, certainly. Someone who believes in right and wrong, who has a moral compass and is motivated by it. Someone like the mutant, or Damien, or, really, any of the kids at the Academy. They were all good people, who, unlike me, actually deserved to be there.

Then again, maybe I do believe in right and wrong. I've been thinking in terms of it for at least few days now. Actually, maybe I've always believed it... maybe I've been deceiving myself into believing there's no such thing because of how often things went wrong when I tried to do what was right... Is it possible that I do have a conscience, and I've been repressing it all this time? Suddenly, hundreds of instances where I've had to suppress inexplicable feelings of guilt crowd into my memory, and the theory rings true. I gave up on being good and decided to just be selfish because I'd already failed.

And now being selfish has backfired on me too.

Surely, I am the most ridiculous human being who has ever lived. If I'd gone after what I really wanted from the start, I wouldn't have shut out everyone at Avalon, I wouldn't have been tempted into TDT, and I would never have gotten myself into this situation in the first place. I wouldn't have had to become a liar, a murderer and a traitor, either. I might've even been a real hero.

So, I turned to the dark side for lack of a real friend. How pathetic is that? It's literally the plot of every children's cartoon ever. Something about that thought finally causes me to lose it, and I lean back against the wall and laugh. Softly, at first, then a bit louder. A harsh, bitter laugh that quickly fades into back into a blank expression, leaving an aching numbness inside my chest. I wonder what whoever's watching me is thinking. Probably that I'm cracked, which wouldn't be at all far from the truth.

Everything I've done since I set foot on the Avalon campus, no, everything I've done my entire life, has all been for nothing. Especially now that it's too late to change.

At the very least, the mutant will never know what kind of person he tried to save.