Realistic or Modern 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 — (𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌)

bad wolf · Mar 15, 2021

ONE

home

TWO

about

THREE

roles

FOUR

extra

STATE OF BEING

inspired by the old guard

one

home
ABOUT

Not angels: not men,

T
hank you so much for your interest! Applications will be due on the 25th of March, 12am EST. If you are in need of an extension or would like to discuss some character ideas, feel free to PM me the details.

Though there are six available roles, I don't mean for them to be limiting. Each role will be filled. However, if you've an idea that does not particularly fit any of those mentioned and would still like to apply, I am open to hearing what you have in mind. Applications will be accepted based on their overall compatibility with the main cast.

I feel that it's important to have a diverse cast of characters as well, but please be mindful. Harmful stereotypes, prejudices, and a general intolerance for people of different race, gender identity, and sexual orientation will not be tolerated both in-character and out.

_ _ _

BASICS

Name:
Nicknames/aliases:
Gender:
Age/D.O.B:
P.O.B:
Race/ethnicity:
Sexual Orientation:

VISAGE

Physicality:
Hair:
Eyes:
Skin:
Distinguishing features:
Body modifications:
Face claim:

PSYCHE

Brief summary:
5+ positive traits:
5+ negative traits:
Fears:
Aspirations:
Habits:

EXPERTISE

Strengths: (What skills are your character proficient with?)
Weaknesses: (What skills could your character work on?)
Combat:
Languages:

HISTORY

There should be plenty to detail here given our characters' age. However, don't feel pressured to write something incredibly lengthy. Hit the major moments in their life, the things they can still remember, the things which still have influence, and move on. Our characters are also familiar with each other so there's a chance that they might also have history together. Much of this planning will be done in post through Discord.

two

about
ROLES

and the resourceful creatures see clearly

THE FRIST

(open)

As the oldest of their company, they may be the most experienced with death. Thousands of years, falling unkindly upon the shoulders, its weight unbearably heavy. It's a shock of another kind. One that lingers. Turns the mind to rot. You become something else, inhuman.

THE SECOND

(open)

They've taken on the responsibilities The First once managed. They lead, they worry, they keep everyone talking. When they come together, decisions are made final by their word. They've not yet gone the way of The First, but they feel their mind slipping. A worry made worse by the slowing of their regenerative capabilities.

THE SOLDIER

(open)

They're old friends with death. Have met them on the battlefield more times than they can rightfully count. They've been more places, fought in more wars, and seen more people come in and out of life than any other immortal. One might argue that they've become numb to it, uncaring and cruel. They think The Soldier sees it as a game to be won, this living.

THE HEALER

(open)

There is something sweet and telling about the skills The Healer has chosen to improve upon. Medicine, surgery. Mending broken bone, torn flesh. It might be lost on the immortals, but it keeps them close to those still living their best life, their only life. They are perhaps the most connected to the way things were or ought to be. More human than the rest combined.

THE WILD

(open)

The aforementioned lull of time, dragging on for all eternity. How does someone fill such an endless expanse? Idleness eats at the brain, makes one mad, aching, shaking at the dullness of it. Laying about. Doing nothing. They fear what The First has become, some mindless beast pacified by time. They are unforgiving of it, spiteful of it. There's nothing in all this world that will hold them back from experiencing every bit of everything they can. Good or bad, it's all theirs.

THE IDOL

(taken)

Somehow, in all this destruction, they've found themselves a home. Responsibilities not unlike The Second this time directed toward a haven, a group, a light in the dark. They are a legend and a god to those they serve. Well-versed and well-adapted, they know the area, its people. They lead a settlement which thrives under their care. This news, this dreaming... It's the last thing they expected. The last thing they'd want. It brings the others to their place of living, and that is a danger of its own.

THE NOVICE

(open)

Last born. The youngest. They are unacquainted to this life. Living on and on and on. Dying again and again and again. It's not something one can prepare themselves for. There's bouts of time where all feels lost, pointless. It's all the same day over and over and over. Finding a reason for it. Filling your time with something so that you don't go mad with the sheer nothing of it all. It's a task more difficult than one can fathom. Not without experiencing it firsthand. They've still got invisible lines drawn between them and this otherness. This bored and angry beast.

three

roles
RULES

that we are not really at home

1.

As always, RPN's rules must be followed. There will be a Discord for this rp. Any OOC conversations held there should still abide by those rules. Bullying will NOT be tolerated. If the need should ever arise, content warnings should be used appropriately. If a problem does occur, don't hesitate to message me and we'll work to resolve whatever the issue is.

2.

Due to the themes this rp may include, I please ask that any prospective joiners be 18+ years of age. Content warnings should be used for posts containing any sensitive/graphic descriptions.

3.

This rp is a collaborative effort. Sharing your ideas for the plot and maintaining a steady presence both in-character and out is expected. Come prepared to share your ideas and engage in conversation. It is a requirement that you have Discord as this is where a majority of our conversations will take place. Though I am very much for quality over quantity, I would like to see 500+ word responses once the rp is launched. RL always takes priority, and if you ever expect that you might be gone for a week, let us know.

4.

This rp is not first come, first serve. You must apply and be accepted. I left the roles deliberately pretty vague so that your muse/ideas could better define them. Though there are only six roles to choose from, I don't want this to be limiting. Applications will be accepted based on their compatibility with the overall cast.

links

in the interpreted world.

out of character

Interest Check

in-character

four

extra

♡coded by uxie, from the wonderful mind of dreamglow♡

bad wolf · Mar 15, 2021

Dajmira the Red.

01
name
Dajmira Wojciech
nicknames
Daśka, Dasia, Mira, Danny (more recent alias)
gender
Gender-fluid
age/d.o.b
1400 CE, 15th Century (an indefinite 600 some years)
p.o.b
Medieval Poland, just outside Gdańsk (then Danczig), in the Pomeranian Voivodeship
ethnicity
Caucasian, Polish/Prussian
sexuality
Biromantic, asexual
"To be a monster is to be a hybrid signal, a lighthouse: both shelter and warning at once."
— Ocean Vuong
visage.

Physicality: She stands tall at 5' 11" and weighs 67 kg (148 lbs). She's incredibly lanky and quite thin, most of her skill reliant on speed and agility rather than brute strength.

Hair: There was a time when she wore it long, soft ginger waves nearly reaching her waist, but those years are seldom ever remembered. She keeps it shorn, a boy's cut which never quite grows past her ears. Particular about her appearance, she's rather adamant about keeping it freshly trimmed and dyed, a task harder to achieve given present circumstances. Her natural color shines through, but the cut persists.

Eyes: A bright and glassy green, her stare is often round and wild and always asking.

Skin: Very fair. The sun's never kissed her skin kindly. Rather, it scathes and so she keeps care to wear accommodating clothes.

Distinguishing features: Thin lips, sparsely grown brows, a well-defined facial structure.

Body modifications: She finds tattoos and piercings rather tedious, too often having to touch them up to combat her body's regenerative nature. Because of this, she's more prone to adorn her person with jewelry and clothes. Dye and a good haircut are perhaps the only alterations she consistently keeps up with towards the modern age.

Face claim: Tilda Swinton
02
psyche.

It is a long and terrible life, but should death come for her tomorrow, a true and final end to this wearisome story, she's not so sure she'd welcome it openly. She's made peace with the after, content at least with her departure from this life to the next, but there is still a great deal of want in this world that she's not sure she'll have in the other.

Immortality makes you great, gives you time to take care of those things often mangled by a short existence. You better yourself, learn things you'd never have the time for. So much change, room for error, things to see, books to read in so many bright and beautiful colors. The world is rich and far too much for any one mortal.

The vastness of it has her in a frenzy and though she's all the time in the world, it never seems enough for her. Dajmira's slowed down in these recent years, her wants more focused for now. She's become absorbed with The Community, her gardens, and the people she's surrounded by. But there's a shine to her eyes and a sort of flutter in her chest, a pull that begs her forward and away.

- - -

5+ positive traits:

Resilient - Stubbornly so. She's able to bounce back quickly and adapt to high-stress situations. Composure and the ability to make quick, split-second decisions are her specialty. Once she sets her mind to something, it's hard to sway her decision. Beaten time and again, she's persistent in seeing a goal achieved no matter the difficulty. With an eternity ahead of her, she's all the time in the world to make it work.

Charismatic - She's an odd bit of charm, an endearing and almost whimsical way of speaking. One might think an immortal tired of life, but she somehow still manages to find joy in it. She's passionate about the things which matter to her and deeply caring of the work she puts into it, resenting of those who get in the way of it.

Perceptive - It may seem to most that she is too fast-paced to pick on small things, but Dajmira does a great deal of thinking while she's at work. She's brash at times but purposefully so. Everything she does is with meaning, none of it done lightly or without thought. She shows a great deal of care towards those she's close to. That doesn't mean she always likes or appreciates them, but there is an understanding there and a willingness to make things tolerable.

Meticulous - The devil is in the details. She'd rather get a task done right the first time, expend her energy doing the right thing so that she can move on and make progress. It's a trait which can make her difficult to work with at times, as she's quick to jump on another's case if she thinks they're not doing it good enough. So long as it keeps her busy and has value, she's willing to put any amount of time into a project.

Forthright - She does not tip-toe around and instead prefers a more direct approach to speaking. She becomes quite serious and very outspoken to those things which need a more honest answer.

5+ negative traits:

Manipulative - She acts in her own interests and has no qualms about using others to get what she wants.

Dependent - She fears an eternity alone and has become incredibly reliant on others for company. She's built up whole congregations and armies, followers of every sort. She's keen to lead, to guide, to control. Anything to keep herself surrounded, loved, and wanted. She's been tossed about and abandoned so many times it's hard to view any one person as an individual. Rather, she absorbs this attention as a group, loves the collective. One person might leave, but she's ten others of the same kind who would gladly die for her. It's all she could ever ask for.

Narcissistic - She's spent whole centuries looking out for no one but herself. No one has been more constant in her years, no more valuable. She's motivated to do things only because she wants to, because it benefits her in some way. She takes great pride in herself, how far she's come and what all she's done. There's a degree of self-loathing there as well, but she tries not to let that eat at her too much.

Dissolute - Dajmira believes that good and righteous men are legends. Happy storytelling, something to help others feel better about the world they live in. When pushed into tight corners, made to think quick... A person makes mistakes. Does appalling things all in the name of survival. Dajmira has not always made the right choice, has done things for the spite of it, the exhilaration. With an indefinite time ahead of her, she tries not to think too hard on the shit things she's done or continues to do. She's never claimed to be a moral person and never wants to.

Obsessive - Once she finds something which excites her, she's none too quick to let it go. She gets tunnel vision and starts to pours her time and effort into it until she's exhausted that energy.

Egotistic - To put it matter-of-factly, she's got a god complex.

Resentful - It isn't hard to get on Dajmira's bad side and though she's quick to dismiss grudges, her temper flares, raging strong before dissipating. A lot of damage can be done in that time. She can be cruel and callous, dismissive of simple life and hateful just for the spite of it.

- - -

Fears: She'd proclaim loudly, "Not a damn thing." One might believe her given all those years of experience and the fact she never seems to stay dead, but the wise know no one is without it. Fear keeps you living; it keeps you moving. Dajmira seeks companionship not because she adores the attention, she fears being alone. She's spent years between life, removed and distant. She knows how she is on her own and hates the way it makes her feel, how bad the tedium of being alive without living can be. People give her purpose in it, a belonging she wouldn't have otherwise.

She also fears inaction, an idle mind left to wander and muse about things better left alone. Confined spaces bother her a great deal, and she does not take kindly to being held back or restrained.

Aspirations: It changes like the wind. She'll wake up wanting to build a boat or study a new language, learn to play an instrument or conquer a whole nation. Her wants in life are often influenced by the events around her. Today, in this moment... She wants to be a farmer.

Habits: Dajmira is in a near constant state of motion, feet shifting and eyes darting. She busies her hands with small tasks, jolts her leg and never sits still for too long. She's always talking, even when no one's listening, talking to fill space. It doesn't have to make sense, it just has to be. The only time she settles is when she's sleeping and that is a rare occasion, completely unintentional. She's up days at a time and crashes suddenly, not often in a bed either.

She carries a notebook with her wherever she goes, jotting down inspiration and advice, a few small lines of prose she's every intention of turning into a poem and never does.
03
“Then time started flowing again and the emptiness grew larger.”
— Jean-Paul Sartre
history.

EARLY 1400 CE, POMERELIA (then under the rule of the Teutonic Order)

It is a dream, this life of hers, a whisper of a tale spoken from another room, lost to the din of a raging party. The simple but important details are hazy, easy to forget or misinterpret. Much of what she does recall has been lost and found so many times, she can no longer be sure of its origin, the truth forsaken, only flights of fancy remembered. She never tells the same story twice, and though she's been in this world far shorter than the other immortals, her history is hard to pin down, bending to the whims and wants of her imaginative storytelling.

If someone could come to her—the husband whose name she's since forgotten, any of her five sons' whose faces have become apart of the crowd—they'd tell her this: She was born in Pomerelia on the poor estate of szlachta farmer. Her father was a peasant, working the land in exchange for housing and food. She grew up with three other siblings and played in the fields alongside the noble's children.

She married the noble's youngest son when she was seventeen, a union made against the wishes of his father. Vehemently despised by his family but cherished by the estate's chlopy, the union was upheld if only to keep the peace between the szlachta nobility and the chlopy workers.

Burdened by the reparations of the Polish–Lithuanian–Teutonic War, the Teutonic Order went into a state of decline. The estate suffered as a result, heavily taxed by the Order for their then support of the Polish Kingdom. Unable to afford the upkeep, many workers were let go and migrated out, finding work for neighboring nobility. Some thirty years of barely making it, scraping by with the minimum, they weren't easy for Dajmira or her family. They worked the land themselves, busy sunup to sundown tilling and planting and harvesting grains.

Dajmira bore four sons in that time, two of which she can recall the names of, Tybald and Cieszmir. She raised them as farmers and taught them how to ride horses, while her husband trained them as Polish szlachta. Her fifth son arrived about the time of the Thirteen Years' War and it was just before it that they both passed rather unexpectedly from disease.

LATER 1400 CE, POMERELIA (now apart of Polish Prussia as the Pomeranian Voivodeship)

They were buried quickly and unceremoniously—fear of sickness and war and the perpetuated disdain from her husband's family never more evident. She woke without air, without room to move, wrapped tightly in a blanket. A tremendous weight above her, keeping her still as the dead and suffocating her till she was. Her first years of this new and unending life came in short moments of panicked wakefulness. She knew little but the pull of a breath which never came, the full-body rattle of adrenaline as it struggled against a force which always failed to moved.

If she dreamed during this time, it's impossible to remember.

She remained this way for a decade. Gasping, shaking, wide-eyed and fearful. It wasn't till after the war and a few heavy rainfalls that she woke again, the dirt around her shaken loose and eroding. The Pale Ghost, Mòrlawa, a banshee's cry in the night... She was in a state of delirium and wandered the country-side for three whole days before being found. A gentle touch and kind eyes, she spent months in the care of a farmer and his family.

The immortals dream of each other. They've seen glimpses of the other's past lives. They know of Dajmira's time before this point, but have never once heard her speak of it. Even after the farm... Finding her sons again. If they'd never dreamed of it, they would have never known she even had children. It is no easy feat, finding a family which has been broken by war, scattered like leaves in high wind. Some might have argued that it would have been best if she'd kept it that way. The nagging bite of unknowingness better than the brutal stab of sudden realization.

If she says anything it's a fanciful lie. Despite the loss of the estate, her sons had grown to become heroes of the Polish rebellion, knights who'd fought against their Teutonic oppressors. They were noble cavalry-men, winged Hussars, Angels of Death fighting gallantly till their last breath.

Nevermind the other headstones next to her empty grave... The tavern she'd found her eldest in... Her age, a husk of a man, barely recognizable. Disgraced and forgotten.

16TH CENTURY, BIRTH OF DAJMIRA THE RED

Tybald staid with her for thirty years. He knew of her magic, this resurrection, and merely took it as a sign from God. His mother had been reborn, given a second chance at life, and he prayed that she would redeem them. He grew spiteful at times and wary, but kept her secret well. It was not easy, watching him grow old, staying the same as the last bit of light in her world faded into obscurity. When he passed, she was at his bedside staring into the face of a man now twice the age she was when she died.

WHAT EVEN IS A BACKGROUND??? WHERE YOU GOING WITH THIS???
Gotta mention her becoming a whole ass KNIGHT.
And the community.
Rebellions, the world wars.
She done traveled.

IN THE WORKS. Saving to keep progress.
04
"Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I’ll meet you there."
— Rumi
expertise.

Strengths:

Negotiation - Her speechcraft has stirred rebellions, enraptured and enticed the unswayed. She's talked her way into and out of more dangers than ever needs counting.

Perseverance/Mettle - In those occasions when things do go wrong, she's a firm readiness to endure whatever repercussions come as a result. It's not clear what motivates her to keep pushing as hard as she does, but she never stays defeated. Bloodied and broken, she always picks herself back up.

Self-sufficient - She can provide, maintain, and support. She's skilled at hunting, especially with a crossbow, and has quite the green thumb when it comes to gardening. Though she's mostly always known the long fight, she feels as though the world's returned to a more natural order. She's eager to teach others these skills and care for those with a time much shorter than hers.

Equestrian - Casually, she's kept up with riding as a past time. She never lost the skill and remains proficient in it. Even now, she's plenty capable of fighting while on horseback. She takes good care of her steads and is well acquainted with their mannerisms.

Weaknesses:

Collaboration - She lives in her own world and prefers things done to her own liking. She does not work well being told what to do and how to do it. If she is to be apart of a group, she'd rather command it. She's led armies into battle and built towns up from nothing. She takes pride in her capabilities and does not like them overshadowed.

First-aid - She wouldn't know where to start. She's picked up basic skills over the years, but nothing especially helpful for more dire situations. She may seem caring towards mortals, she shows a willingness to help the populace, but has never seemed too concerned about the health of any one individual. Sadly, it seems they've become rather expendable to her, something about the needs of the many and whatnot.

Combat: What she's learned, she's done on her own. For a long time, there was no great teacher and she spent many years paying for it. Death after death, learning by mistake. It wasn't till she joined the ranks of the polish szlachta that she got any proper training.

Once apart of the drużyna as a cavalryman, she fought often on horseback with lances, heavy bludgeon and szabla. She's well-versed in close-combat, having wrestled grown men to the ground just to find a chink in their armor. However, she does better at a distance, using her lance as a spear and firing long distance weapons (i.e. bows, crossbows, throwing axes). She prefers this over hand-to-hand as larger and more heavy opponents tend to be more equipped than her.

Towards the modern era, she took to firearms with ease. She's knowledgeable in a variety of them and has become quite the marksman. She's not entirely reliant on them, but does prefer their use over a more brutish take-down. They are quick and efficient and far more cleaner than blunt force trauma.

Languages: She's a love for language and has tried to learn those which might aide her, but it's often hard to keep up with. She's lost the use of many over the years. The few she's remained rather proficient with are Slavic or Germanic in origin (i.e. Polish, Russian, German, or English). She knows a few Altaic languages such as Ottoman Turkish and has become familiar with the use of Mandarin, Arabic, and French.

code by @Nano

lisbeth · Mar 15, 2021

A Duty to Fight / To See.
THE WILD.
.
.
.
.

THE HOUSE OF BELONGING

BASICS

Full Name:

Born Caer Daughter of Fáelán.

Nicknames:

Caer the Tall and Caer of Mercia were former names she has not referred to since circa A.D 1,300;

Mortifer, a Roman nickname, meaning bringer of death/death-bringer in Latin;

Caer the Undying (or Caer the Deathless depending on who you consult) is a name proposed over time by historical records;

Catia Thomas is the full name name she addresses herself by, and one she adopted at the beginning of the Renaissance period;

Charles Thomas, a false moniker;

Cate, a modern variant of Catia she usually goes by.

Gender:

Non-binary; he, she, they (In immortality, Cate believes concepts such as gender identity hold no purpose, thus not identifying with anything: so they are referred by any pronouns but primarily stick to she and they.)

Age/D.O.B:

Over 2,000 years old, born in A.D 30.

P.O.B:

Norfolk, England.

Race/Ethnicity:

Caucasian; Celtic, and a part of the Iceni tribe.

Sexual Orientation:

Queer (As is the case with gender identity, Cate has no need for specific labels; but when it comes down to it, they would date anybody.)

Role:

The Wild.

643 notes

VISAGE

Physicality:

At a towering 6’2” (188 cm) with a weight of 145 lbs (66 kg), Cate's salient figure is one of picturesque elegance. And despite her lithe frame, she maintains a relative amount of muscle definition; but not anything extraordinary.

Hair:

Although a natural dark blonde, they have experimented with many hair colours and hairstyles: dating from her childhood when she learned how to bleach her hair using lime-water, to predominantly hiding it under hair nets throughout the late medieval period, to curling it in the Elizabethan era. Nowadays, she sports her natural colour and has it cut short, barely reaching her shoulders. When relaxing, she tucks it behind her ears. However, in a more professional environment, she ties it in a low bun albeit a few strands or sections are left free, cascading over her forehead.

Eyes:

A searing ice blue, almost grey looking, filled with loathing and affliction.

Skin:

There has always been an artificial appearance to her skin like a porcelain doll. It is pale—accompanied often by pink blush on her cheeks—and without blemishes.

Body Modifications:

Cate’s prideful of their appearance, excessively so, seldom altering their skin with superfluous decorations. The few tattoos they have—tinted with blue ink—were an intimidation tactic in battle, but Cate preserves them as memento of their beginning: a Celtic knot on their left bicep, an emblem of eternal life; a bear from their right shoulder to their elbow, symbolizing valour, strength, protection, and new life; and a Celtic Tree of Life on her left ankle, representing balance and reminding her to stay grounded but seek greatness.

Moreover, Cate has both earlobe’s pierced, accessorized with hoop earrings.

Faceclaim:

Elizabeth Debicki.

643 notes

HUMAN ALL TOO HUMAN

PSYCHE

Brief Summary:

Immortality is a grim burden Cate espoused with every intention of establishing one’s mark on Earth. They have actively watched the rise and fall of humankind over two millennia: the barbarity mortals brought upon themselves, but likewise their harmony and kindliness. There has, of course, been an inevitable soberness brought on by eternity, but nevertheless there survives the champion they first ‘died’ as. Never truly succumbing to quietude’s temptation—no matter how many times her mind descends into such a state.

Zealous and persevering, Cate’s very existence pervades a frightening resonance; desensitized to the horrors of mortality, sometimes forgetting only a handful of them bear the power they do. They not only saw death but had a hand in it as well. It, to an extent, promoted egotism. This concept of winning; not simply happened by chance but chosen. A human vessel nominated by a greater being to further humanity. And while Cate has indeed become a key aspect in developing humanity, the recognition of other Immortals prevented this conceptual vanity of uniqueness from deviating into a god complex far more sinister.

Alongside this, however, is an almost crafty deceptiveness. She has spent enough of her life interacting with a variety of identities; over time, understanding what drives people—their needs, motivations, desires, fears. And with a knowledge so comprehensive, Cate has used it to their advantage. Of course, it has all been for the greater good.

Despite history denoting Cate’s character by her association with the harshness of war, those who have been affiliated with her revelled in her beneficent command. She has remained solitary for most of her life, for dread of seeing loved ones grow old. But moving along in the world, helping with no expectation of reward, allowed Cate the purpose to at least make content with living forever, though the dull quality of idleness still enjoys its brief flashes of success.

Positive Traits:

Vehement, persevering, strong-willed, diligent, dependable, beneficent, versatile, stalwart.

Negative Traits:

Quick-tempered, candid, resentful, foolhardy, critical, unpredictable, difficult, imperious.

Fears:

During their earliest years Cate had anxieties about their immortality – whether it would end, how it would end, if upon their ultimate death they would endure every ounce of suffering once again. Whilst never appeased, observing the First drowned them out. Instead followed by a sharp dread of whether time would subdue them as it did to the First: suppressing them and changing them into a husk.

Aspirations:

Even though they never wanted nor consented to this life, Cate, in their own opinion, has embraced it and accomplished most of what immortality proposed. But sometimes a person lives too long, and Cate’s recent affairs are nothing more than to pass the time. What they truthfully desire (need) is progression from this life onto the next; they saw what happened to the First. Now, at the end of the world, they fear they may no longer resist time’s influence, and Cate would rather rid themselves of immortality than decay into mimic of the First.

Habits:

Cate craves stimulation, even from the triviality of talking. She paces back and forth when stressed or excited, and often finds people telling her to stop because it induces anxiety in them.

For whatever reason, most likely pertaining to self-importance, Cate offers her opinion to anybody, including strangers, on anything. Regardless of if she is ignorant on the subject matter. Her opinions are not outlandish nor exceedingly rude, but it irritates people all the same.

As stated, Cate loves expressing her thoughts, notwithstanding how unnecessary it may be. Though she is perceptive and compelling to listen to at times, most don’t understand what she is blathering on about for half of it because of how quickly she speaks—requiring her to catch her breath at the end of every sentence.

Out of all the wondrous inventions modernity produced, the camera by far headlines the list for Cate. An object clever enough to essentially freeze a moment in time and then extract it; if she hadn’t kept up, she’d think it as some sort of extra-terrestrial technology. She has never been one for sentimental values, but the Polaroid, or Instant, camera is a favourite hence she frequently takes photos of anywhere she visits or anyone endearing enough.

14,920 notes

NO PARADISE, NO FALL

EXPERTISE

May the burdens of the day rest lightly upon you.

Strengths:

Authority—It is in their nature. Sitting back and observing other’s direction is mundane, it’s unavailing: they’ve led as a military commander, a noble, a pirate, a revolutionary. Although their reverence as a leader is never superficial. Cate can take control in the direst of times, inspiring people, driving them. When intertwined through tête-à-tête, it’s easy to see why. Cate is surprisingly affable and combined with their self-assured demeanour, people often find themselves bewitched by their influence, sensing a “guidance of wisdom they must follow”. Make no mistake, Cate is as faithful a subordinate as she is a leader. They’ve supported some of the most noteworthy historical figures: Warrior Queen Boudica, King Arthur, William Wallace, Leonardo Da Vinci, William Shakespeare, Blackbeard, Marquis Da Lafayette, Napolean Bonaparte, Emmeline Pankhurst. Cate’s expressions of devotion seldom fall on deaf ears.

Adaptability—Existing in a perpetually reshaping society, monitoring the change of laws, beliefs, and customs necessitates growth in one’s mentality and character; it’s always an uphill battle but never fruitless. Cate’s managed to keep up with the time’s, evolving throughout every period, almost relishing in the novelty of it. It provided another incentive to keep going, at least.

Fighter—In every sense of the word. They don’t lay down, they don’t rest, they subsist notwithstanding the universe pitting every odd against them. Maybe it’s the Celtic blood, maybe it’s because they’ve seen what happens when communities lose heart and relinquish. Either way, they will do everything in their power to overcome those odds.

Weaknesses:

Hindsight—A most fascinating element of the human mind; a seemingly congenital trait of everyone on a wavelength of its own entirety. Some are capable of tuning into it, reflecting on their previous actions, an afterthought permitting them to never repeat the same mistake again. And whilst Cate too is capable of such a feat her hubristic impetuousness keeps her moving forward, never daring contemplate on the past—perhaps out of fear of regret.

Pride—The conviction Cate has about themselves is admirable beyond doubt; they know their greatest assets and how to capitalise on them, moreover there is a subconscious inkling about their lesser aspects. Yet one would find Cate dead rather than them admitting it. It is not that they believe they’re better than those around them; Cate can damn well recognise the skill of another if they so please. Nor do they necessarily ever lack the self-awareness to admit it. Their pride simply cannot allow it. So, it always comes out as obstinacy, and it’s stranded them in more predicaments than they can count.

Temperament—Oh how effortless it is to provoke Cate. They aren’t as bad as they once were, mind you; but that is not saying a lot. Their fury is something to behold, very much so, and to receive it is not something most strive for. Unfortunately for her and those around her, it clouds her judgement all too often; Cate reacts first, thinks later. And when synthesized with pride, and a lack of hindsight, it’s an explosion of mistakes.

Combat:

From her father preparing her throughout her childhood and teenage years, Cate has always had a strong proficiency with close-ranged combat. As an old Gaul warrior, she is well-versed with melee weapons: swords, daggers, spears, axes, and shield; she has also trained with extensive range weapons such as slings, javelins, and bows.

She especially favours the rapidity of daggers such as the Seax, Baselard, or Dirk. However, she has a fondness for individual swords and spears: The Falchion, the Claymore, the Guisarme; even the Jian bears a special place in Cate's heart too.

When needed, she dabbled with the usage of firearms as well. But Cate was raised to face her adversary head on, to let them glimpse the eyes of their victor, for their demise to not be without honour. Cate considers a gun the tool of cowards. Hiding behind the barrel of it is a means of masking their dishonour and shame.

Excluding weapons, Cate is likewise an able hand-to-hand combatant, having studied variations of wrestling: catch wrestling, ‘collar-and-elbow’ wrestling, and Cornish wrestling.

Languages:

Cate can speak and write in Celtic languages such as Welsh, Breton, Gaeilge (Irish), Scottish Gaelic; Germanic languages such as English and German; and Romance languages such as standard French and Norman French; she vaguely understands British Latin and Vulgar Latin. These (except Latin) all range from their old versions, to their middle versions, and then modern versions.

18,223 notes

THE SUN FOREVER RISING

HISTORY

Chapter 1: Early Records

There has been an ongoing parley between historians on the existence of a figure accounted as Caer the Undying. Whether there is any truth to it, or like any other mythological hero, was a bygone Celtic tale created to arouse fear in their enemies—specifically the Roman Empire—which has unintentionally cemented itself in culture after culture, civilisation after civilisation; an additional fabrication parents tell their children.

It has, however, been disregarded many times for its irrationality. A being capable of breeding eternal life. Such a thing defies the accumulated laws of both time and nature that the universe abides by. Of course, hypothetical questions have sprung up regarding this, though discussed in jest: if a person can inadvertently escape death, can the universal laws appertain to it, thus does the universe demand compensation, and what are the subsequent effects on time and space. But if indeed humanity can scrap the understanding of the theory of everything, it proposes the question: what does that mean for humanity?

The earliest records of this figure derive from Roman writing best detailed by the Roman General Gaius Suetonius Paulinus, dating back to A.D 60. He described a warrior of immense height, taller than that of their male counterparts, yielding unspeakable power. They could not surrender to injury nor die. Conjectured as a servant of the Goddess of Death, the personification of the Goddess herself, an angelic entity or even demonic, the Romans called them: Mortifer, bringer of death or death-bringer in Latin, who has since reappeared in momentous events throughout history.

Chapter 2: Your Own House Turned to Ashes

Caer, Daughter of Fáelán was born in A.D 30. in Norfolk, England and raised as an inhabitant of the Iceni—a Brittonic tribe in Eastern Britain. Her father, a noble blacksmith, and her mother, a revered artisan, were prominent personage of their settlement, leading a modest and secure life. They, when not occupied by their individual vocations, engaged in farming—the same as everybody else. Caer spent her earliest years tending to the farmland, growing crops and vegetables, and treated the cattle; in the evenings fondly watching her mother sew tunics and dresses, crafting brooches, whilst her father would sometimes make neck torcs, primarily out of gold. Caer particularly admired needlework, cherishing it, and is a lasting avenue she has maximized for financial gain.

Nearer to her teenage years, Caer’s ever-growing height became famed amongst her settlement, rivalling the boys. Earning her the nickname: Caer the Tall. Caer was a fervid rough-and-tumble child, her father took notice of the fire inside his daughter; by the age of thirteen, he schooled her in melee combat.

In A.D 43, the Roman Emperor Claudius ordered the invasion of Britain under the command of Aulus Plautius. The invasion began in south-eastern Britain; they quickly established control over most of the tribes. However, the Iceni, governed by King Prasutagus formulated a voluntary alliance—allowing them to retain their kingdom.

Her first lust for battle came in A.D 47 when the Romans threatened to sanction a law of disarmament on the tribe. There was a short-lived rebellion, the Iceni stamped out by Ostorius.

After King Prasutagus’s death in A.D 60, and the ruination of his family at the hands of the Romans, Prasutagus’s wife, Boudica, marshalled the Iceni and other tribes occupying Britain in a revolt. Caer was one of the military commanders appointed under Boudica. At the first light of dawn, the insurgents charged out from the forests surrounding Camoludunum (Colchester). They pillaged and burned the city, sparing no-one, then advanced to Verulamium (St. Albans); Caer the Tall’s ruthlessness struck perturbation in even that of Boudica.

At the borders of Verulamium, Caer was stabbed in the abdomen and the blade pierced her liver. She collapsed; the world evanesced.

Yet nothing: no white light, no haven, no paradise, no Gods. For a longing moment, she feared that this was it. A feeling of what Caer could merely describe as spiritual dread overcame her.

She came to easy enough, a sheet of red and orange veiled across her eyesight. And indeed, she believed she had passed over to the Afterlife. But a shriek of pure agony erupted from her as the blade wound mended itself, feeling like it too was on fire as if one of the buildings they had set alight, and brought her back to the physical plane. As she rose it felt as if time had slowed down, some of the soldiers around her bearing witness to the revival; their eyes stung with terror. Their commander, whose death they had viewed first-hand, was alive! She was alive! It sparked a newborn strength in the Celts. Caer had no time to process it, subconsciously praising whatever deity preserved her life, the fighting persisted, once more they took up arms against the Romans.

The tribes forged ahead through the rest of Verulamium, the mart of Londinium (London), and several military posts. Finally, the consciousness of immortality set in. It was intoxicating; she was fucking invincible! In a trance-like fury, their wrath never quenched, Caer the Tall massacred each Roman soldier, doing unto them what they did to her ancestors. The Celts as well as the Romans quaked at the prospect of it.

Although it appeared not so, Caer Daughter of Fáelán, Caer the Tall, had fell that day in Verulamium. So forth wrought Caer the Undying.

General Paulinus countered the Britons near present-day Fenny Stratford on Watling Street. Both sides fought valiantly, and although outnumbered, as sovereign masters of strategy, the Romans decisively defeated the allied tribes, inflicting heavy losses on them. After their loss, Boudica either took poison or died of shock or illness. Caer, along with other members of the Iceni, were captured and transferred to a slave trader. The trader then moved them to northern Britain.

Chapter 3: The Middles Ages

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Proin mattis lacinia lacus, at euismod dolor gravida id. Ut in aliquet magna. Sed in tellus ut tellus fringilla feugiat laoreet quis diam. Cras tincidunt enim et felis ultricies, sed luctus augue interdum. Integer ornare, velit ut congue rhoncus, odio turpis pharetra nisi, scelerisque cursus ligula diam et turpis. Donec ac nunc bibendum, porta elit at, suscipit nulla. Cras pretium nisi neque, vel posuere libero lobortis non.

Chapter 4: The Rebirth of Catia Thomas and The Da Vinci Intervention

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Proin mattis lacinia lacus, at euismod dolor gravida id. Ut in aliquet magna. Sed in tellus ut tellus fringilla feugiat laoreet quis diam. Cras tincidunt enim et felis ultricies, sed luctus augue interdum. Integer ornare, velit ut congue rhoncus, odio turpis pharetra nisi, scelerisque cursus ligula diam et turpis. Donec ac nunc bibendum, porta elit at, suscipit nulla. Cras pretium nisi neque, vel posuere libero lobortis non.

Chapter 5: The High Seas

The cultural and artistic values that Renaissance Europe furnished were a welcome addition, and Catia had indeed savoured it, but it had been a slow period in her life. She was not yet fulfilled. There was an exhilaration she found only peril could endow sufficiently; the adrenaline one felt just before their death, except now the unfortunate outcome of death would never come, that feeling would continue and her life prevail.

Catia’s thirst for it drove her to seek fulfilment in the British Royal Navy in the early eighteenth century. She had stolen an outfit from a tailoring service, and fortified by her height and muscular physique, Catia fabricated the guise Charles Thomas; a lowly but spirited drunkard hoping to turn his life around as a British privateer. She was stationed in the West Indies, primarily the Caribbean amidst the War of the Spanish Succession. Catia once again proved herself in battle, and whilst some of her fellow combatants had their doubts about Catia’s identity, her mettle as a soldier made them indifferent about it.

She took no appeal to the now regularly used rifles and pistols, finding them spineless; albeit perhaps a part of it unknowingly stemmed from her own immortality, for she had reason to cower behind the advantage of range.

Naval battles, on the other hand, were a brisk change. The ferocity of battle—against not only the Spanish but Mother Nature’s high seas too—rejuvenated her like a person possessed. A letter collected from a wreckage briefly mentions someone who “fought like the Devil dressed as a man”.

Several years into her tenure, impressed by her gallantry, her superiors granted her a ship of her own: A brig called the Cicero. Catia and the Cicero became an unstoppable team, an even fiercer captain than she was a privateer they embarked on a great many voyages.

The Peace of Utrecht came soon after, ending the war. Although no longer needed in the Caribbean, Catia lived in Nassau for a couple of years, where she met a barmaid whom she revealed her real identity to; the two had an on-and-off relationship behind closed doors.

She still transported cargo across the seven seas until commanded to transport a group of slaves to one of the North American colonies. Incapable of following through such an abominable order, Catia planned on dispatching the slaves, ensuring they seek asylum. However, early into the journey, now that the British were regarded with disfavour more than ever, her ship was raided by pirates in late 1717.

This was where she met the fleet comprised of Edward Teach (better known as Blackbeard), Benjamin Hornigold, and Stede Bonnet. Informing the pirate crew of her plot, Teach proposed they aid in the freeing of the slaves in return for Catia’s remaining cargo. Catia agreed, yet Teach, respecting her (or Charles’s) nobility, then offered her and the Cicero a place in the fleet. Benjamin Hornigold retired from piracy no less than a month later, and Stede Bonnet lost command of his ship in December of that year.

She followed Blackbeard tirelessly, never daring reveal she was not really Charles; though it came as a surprise to never see him kill a man. It was, she would recall later, funny to read the violent documentations on him. They spent the next year plundering merchant vessels and building their fleet. Upon knowledge of King George I’s pardon, though considered, none accepted when put forward by Woodes Rogers.

Officially enemies of the British Empire, Teach managed to sail to Ocracoke Inlet—Catia was not so lucky. The Cicero was sunk by men-of-war Woodes Rogers brought with him. Of course, Catia survived the assault and, in time, escaped to France.

Chapter 6: Vive La Révolution!

TL; DR: Catia spent the Age of Enlightenment chiefly in France: expanding her prowess in embroidery and tailoring. An elderly tailor, Jean Alix, dazzled at her techniques, employed her under an apprenticeship for the next few years. And for a while, Catia did not yearn for more. Although Charles Thomas was presumed dead in the Bahamas, she still felt apprehensive about further exposure, for concern of British Naval Officers resuming their hunt; regardless of the unlikelihood of it. So, a compliant, undistinguished lifestyle in France would have to do. Jean Alix was kind enough and provided her a loan to set up a tailoring business of their own.

France’s involvement in the American Revolutionary War and alliance with the United States, in 1778, finally catapulted her into action. She initially directed her attention to working as a camp follower: often tending to the domestic side of army organization, washing, cooking, mending clothes, and providing medical help when necessary. During the 1781 battle of Yorktown, in desperation, she joined the vortex of battle: a soldier apart of Military Officer Marquis De Lafayette’s army.

Years later, she engaged in the French Revolution, rioting, looting, and striking. Before travelling back to Britain, Catia substitued her full name with the nickname: Cate.

Chapter 7: The Comedown of Modernity/Smoke and Mirrors

Upon their eventual return to Britain, in time to see the effects of the Industrial Revolution, they felt displeasure at the unidentified landscape. So engrossed in external affairs, Cate was ignorant to expeditious advancement in Western societies. The agricultural involvement of their homeland was gone, replaced by large-scale industry, mechanized manufacturing, and the factory system. However, to observe how far they had come from living in straw houses was irrefutably marvellous: the locomotive, the photograph, the telegraph, later electricity, and other new machines and energy sources.

Despite this, the poor treatment of lesser protected classes such as the working class and women was as prevalent as ever ergo Cate dedicated most of the nineteenth and early twentieth century to campaigning for their rights.

This, like the French Revolution, was a different sort of battle, but just as fulfilling.

She participated in the likes of the protest for the Repeal of the Combination acts (1824), Swing Riots (1830), Tolpuddle Martyrs (1834), the Anti-Poor Law League and law riots (1834-1837), and the foremost campaign: The Women’s Suffrage (1897-1928).

However, her involvement in The Women’s Suffrage began in 1967 once she joined the Manchester Society for Women’s Suffrage; after hearing from scientist Lydia Becker about a newly formed Manchester committee. She stayed a member of this group until it merged with The National Union of Women’s Suffrage Societies in 1897, from which Emmeline Pankhurst formed a breakaway group in 1903: the Women's Social and Political Union.

A perfect candidate for the group’s aggressive tactics, Cate found herself arrested time and time again. Recognised for her remarkable regenerative abilities and high pain threshold, Cate befitted the part of a bodyguard whose role was to protect Emmeline Pankhurst and other prominent suffragette members. As suffragettes increasingly became targets of violence martial arts were introduced as self-defence: jujitsu was taught, but Cate also trained them in variations of wrestling.

The outbreak of the First World War subdued the movement for the time being. And for once, Cate didn’t join the fighting, instead she contributed to the war effort through filling essential jobs left vacant.

1,202 notes
h

♡design by dreamglow, coded by uxie♡

logastellus · Mar 15, 2021

Osvaldo Mendoza

THE HEALER

32

Male

Homosexual

Ozzie, Val

P.O.B:Tenochitlan|Eth:Aztec

6'1

D.O.B:1492C.E

EXPERTISE

Strengths: Osvaldo is calm under pressure and is very skilled in mcgyvering items from little to nothing given to him. He is able to keep his composure during hectic situations and use his mind when needed to get out of situations partially to hardly unscathed. He is able to wrap almost any wound up within minutes. He is an excellent sniper, as he was one in the war when combat medics were deployed into the battlefield.
Weaknesses: Osvaldo is not the best at negotiating and would rather stay out of any negotiating as long as it doesn't involve him. He is also emotionally attached to his immortal family and his cat and basically anyone he feels is deemed worthy of his trust. With being attached he has a hard time detaching himself from people and memorabilia.
Combat: Osvaldo is skilled in close hand-to-hand combat, and multiple fighting styles such as Muy Thai, Capoeira, Jujutsu. His weapons of choice are handguns, sniper rifles, and double blades.
Languages: Spanish, Arabic, French, Mandarin, English, German, Italian

VISAGE

Physicality: Osvaldo stands at a rough 6'1" and is 193lbs. He has a mesomorphic build with toned muscles. Even in the apocalypse, Osvaldo still exercises to keep his body healthy. He does morning combat training.
Hair: Osvaldo has dark brown, curly hair that is currently shoulder lengthed, he enjoys keeping it in a bun while out scavenging.
Eyes: Brown orbs that look magnificent in the sun, if only they weren't showing the signs of a tired and emotionally, physically, and mentally drained man.
Skin: Osvaldo has beautiful tanned skin with multiple scars and marks scattering his body. Some of his scars are covered up by his tattoos.
Distinguishing features: He has bags under his eyes from being tired all the time even though he is a heavy sleeper. He also has a full beard that he maintains even in the apocalypse.
Body modifications: He has Aztec tattoos covering his back, both arms, and top of his chest.
Face claim: Oscar Issac

PERSONALITY

Brief summary: Osvaldo is a simple man who wants to live a simple life. He is mild-mannered and is the more level-headed person in the group. Being the healer, he is more interested in people not needing his help and tries to keep his teammates from doing reckless actions to which his attempts fail the majority of the time. Osvaldo is often looked at as the voice of reason but isn't hesitate to speak the truth and express his opinions. He is always concerned about his family's safety and is always bickering with them when either one of them does anything reckless. Osvaldo isn't one for yelling and raising his voice, he enjoys the peace and quiet even though he knows the silence can bring insanity. He is very close to his immortal family and values their lives more than they value their own. He hates being stressed out and becoming frustrated and will let another know to stay away from him until he has calmed down. He has his dark days as well, there are days he wishes wouldn't wake up. He is passionate about art and literature for he believes it is the only thing besides his family keeping him entertained in an apocalyptic wasteland.
5+ positive traits: Resourceful| Level-Headed| Compassionate|Innovative|Virtuosos
5+ negative traits: Emotionally-Attatched| Reserved| Unorganized| Secretive| Over-Thinker
Fears: Losing his close friends and family| Always being on the run| Being Immortal
Aspirations: Find love once again| Have a family| To have his immortality end
Habits: Osvaldo is a heavy sleeper and will sleep through almost anything| Talks to his cat| Asks for backrubs regularly |Has a new book each week| Smokes a pack of cigarettes a day|Sleeps with a gun under his pillow|He loves being awake at night to watch the moon| He tinkers when he is frustrated|

BIOGRAPHY

Osvaldo was born in 1492 C.E under the name Patlea in Tenochtitlan. His childhood consisted of hunting in the mornings with his father and men in the tribe and during the afternoons he would spend with his mother learning how to use different herbs to create medicine. Patlea enjoyed learning about his peoples' history and polytheism entities. During his years up until adulthood, Patlea has never seen other humans besides the people of his tribe, until he was hunting for fish by the ocean and he witnessed a large ship docked along the coast, he watched men in heavy metal clothes arrive in smaller boats before he ran back into the forest to alert his tribe of intruders. The intruders turned out to be Spaniards. Patlea and his tribe were fascinated by the Spaniards in their homeland and welcomed them with open arms, they shared with the foreigners their way of hunting, living, and history. Patlea's tribe looked up to the Spaniards as Gods, and while the "gods" shared their skills and delicacies with the Aztecs, they also shared their diseases. Patlea noticed members of his tribe became ill from an unknown disease, not even the healers could cure. His people were dying off at an alarming rate and Patlea's only assumption was the Spaniards as the people in his tribe didn't become ill before their arrival to their homeland. Patlea quickly urged the tribe leader and demanded the Spaniards leave their home. Deciding not to leave their home, The Spaniards days later raided the tribes' land and slaughtered Patlea's people. A warrior at heart, Patlea fought back but his efforts were useless when he was shot in the stomach and stabbed through the heart, the last person to cross his vision a Spaniard. Patlea awoke to his body aching all over, his throat on fire from the dehydration and his heart spiked with pain with each breathe taken. His adrenaline was pumping through his veins as he was registering what had happened to him, he was killed and he knew it, he watched as the Spaniard stake him through the chest with his own blade. Patlea wasn't going to sit around and question why he was alive, the only thing registering in his mind was his family. He quickly arrived at the hut to see his mother and siblings lying in a pool of their own blood, stricken with pain and anger. Patlea hunted down the Spaniards and attempted to kill each one but was instead captured and taken back to Europe as a prisoner along with others from his tribe.

Patlea is living amongst the Spaniards, the same race that slaughtered his tribe and imprisoned them. Patlea was sold to an apothecary owner, a gentleman in his mid-twenties who was fresh out of medical school. Patlea was given the name Osvaldo. He was more interested in teaching his new servant about his work instead of using him as a slave. Osvaldo's years consisted of learning about different variations of medicine, learning Spanish and English, understanding the body and the number of diseases active, and assisting his master with his medical rounds. The first death Osvaldo experienced has always left him with nightmares of the tragic moment, years of the same nightmare sparked him to do research on how the injuries he had sustained should have left him dead. The night of Osvaldo's second death confirmed his immortality when his throat was slit in front of his master after a break-in. Osvaldo's master was intrigued by the sight of the wounds of the other healing immediately that he vowed to keep his ability a secret. Osvaldo stayed by his owners' side, one wasn't able to survive without the other. The companionship grew into an intimate relationship. Osvaldo never experienced romantic relations until he was sold, he never had an interest in learning about his body until he met his owner. Was it wrong to love a man? Osvaldo didn't care. He didn't care about the consequences. With immortality at his fingers, Osvaldo wasn't prepared for the consequences of others around him passing away. Osvaldo witnessed his master die as he continued to live and be age-less. After his lovers' death, Osvaldo sold the apothecary and moved throughout Europe and the many years ahead of him.

March 18th, 1961, Osvaldo enlisted in the army and was deployed to Vietnam as a Combat Medic. He used the skills he learned from his tribes' healers and the knowledge taught to him by his master and used them to save soldiers and Vietnamese villagers. The dreams of the others didn't start until the end of the war. Osvaldo thought they were nightmares at first of soldiers in the war, but he noticed each dream was a message to go find the said person. He was found by The first. His dreams were linked to theirs as the hunt for the others began.

In current times, after the apocalypse decimated half the human population, his immortal family was alerted in their dreams of another immortal.

My will to live ended years ago.

© pasta

LowkeyLovingLoki · Mar 18, 2021

filler

novice.

headspace

lewis capaldi

character name

Artemis Mercier

age & d.o.b

130 years old (appears 23); born 12th October, 1921

nicknames/aliases

Art

p.o.b

Nice, France

gender/pronouns

Male/fluid, uses he/him and they/them

race/ethnicity

Caucasian

sexual orientation

Homosexual
visage

hair style

Artemis grows his curly hair out to just a bit above his shoulders, but he rarely ever styles it. Occasionally he puts it up so it isn't in his face, but he doesn't style it differently for fashion. The underside of his hair is white; a birthmark that he's always had.

modifications

Artemis' nose is pierced on the left side, and he has a few tattoos sporadically placed on his body.

physicality

Artemis is very lean with little muscle on his frame. He is of an average height, but can appear taller given how slim he is. Although he doesn't have much body strength, he is extremely flexible and agile.

Distinguishing features

Other than his choice in clothing, Artemis is easily identifiable from his hair alone.

height

5'11

skin

Pale with freckles

eye colour

Blue

Face claim

Gauge Burek
persona

psyche

Basic Summary:
Artemis is a very independent person. He keeps to himself almost all of the time, much preferring to 'work' alone than with others; that said, he really only avoids other people for risk of establishing emotional attachments. Being as young as they are - even if more than a century old - they want to protect their heart and themself. He has never really been a fan of the whole 'being immortal' thing, and it's evident in the way that he acts. He doesn't want to continue to lose people forever, so he has chosen to be lonely now rather than later. Art is also not a very easy person to like; he can be mean and is often very sarcastic. He rarely smiles or gets excited, especially with the current state of the world. They are serious a lot of the time, but not in the way that tjey care about doing things right; in the way that they have no reason to be happy. Still, he is a good friend - if you manage to get past his defences. He develops an almost obsessive nature toward those he finds himself caring about, but it is very rare for that to happen.

5+ Positive Traits:
Strategic, analytical, independent, unemotional, observant, quiet

5+ Negative Traits:
Lonely, sarcastic, secretive, resentful, insecure, suspicious of others

Fears: Artemis fears being lonely forever; and yet, they do nothing to prevent this. The best he can think to do is to get used to being lonely as early on as possible. He also fears living for as long as he will and making no notable change to the world. He wants to amount to something.

Aspirations: Artemis just aspires to live. He struggles to be motivated to actually do anything with his (long) life, even though he fears doing nothing forever. At this rate, they are aspiring to live... even if they sometimes feels like they don't want to.

Habits: Says 'God' in his speech often (i.e. 'oh God', 'oh my God', 'for God's sake' etc.); runs their thumbnail against their lip while thinking/listening/observing; almost constantly twisting the rings on his fingers; if there is any kind of raised surface in a room, he will sit there.

expertise

Strengths: Although not incredibly useful in a battle of strengths, Artemis is useful in a battle of wits and strategy. He has a very analytical mind, and he is extremely observant; because he normally would just fade into the background, he is able to pick up on words said and actions made to inform him how to make future decisions or anything of the like. They are also a fantastic liar. If anyone was needed to infiltrate enemy ranks, Artemis is the person to do it. He is a near-perfect spy.

Weaknesses: Artemis is not strong. They have little muscle mass, so they would not go well in a fist-fight... or anything involving pure strength. They can't really use any weapons other than a knife, and certainly not long-range. Being as analytical as he is, Art struggles in situations which are charged with emotion and, by extension, he struggles with reckless or overly-aggressive fighting. As he is unreadable, it's hard to tell when he is actually telling the truth as opposed to when he is lying, which is a problem when it comes to convincing his actual allies.

Combat: In a battle situation, his strategic nature and flexibility/agility make him a good close-combat fighter, as long as he has a bit of time to analyse his opponent's fighting pattern first - but he is probably a bit better at escaping than fighting. (Think Black Widow-esque fighting, but with no guns).

Languages: Artemis speaks fluent French and English.
background

early life

Artemis was born in 1921, ten years before the beginning of the Great Depression in France. Fortunately for him, his family was relatively well-off in terms of wealth. Unfortunately for him, his father was a religious fanatic whose ideas would have better suited the 1800s - particularly during the Witch trials. Artemis' mother was essentially trapped in the marriage, but she truly cared for Artemis. When it became evident that Artemis had a birthmark - a mark of the Devil, as his father would have surely thought it to be - his mother did everything she could to hide it. From the age of 5, Artemis' father's intense religious ideaologies were drilled into his head, even if Artemis didn't quite understand them. Nevertheless, Artemis found himself a true believer in God by the time he was ten years old.

later life

In 1939, World War II started. Artemis, being 18, was conscripted. At the time, he was no afraid - his father's intense faith had influenced him to believe that even if he were to be killed, he would go to Heaven. Artemis was excited to fight those who were in the wrong and didn't consider the seriousness of War. It was during their time as a soldier that their belief in God started to waver. The horrors he saw and experienced made him doubt whether God would really allow them; would make them happen. It was sheer luck, and a bit of strategy, that they were not killed. All of their closest comrades, fellow soldiers, were either shot dead or injured beyond hope of full recovery. As well as this, any remaining faith fizzled out once it was reported to him that his mother had died back home in Nice while Artemis was away.

Despite his luck, Artemis would lie to the other Immortals that he was killed in 1944, at age 23, while fighting Nazi soldiers. The truth is that, on an occasion in which he was able to return home, an argument broke out between him and his father. Artemis had expressed doubts in God and religion as a whole. Artemis, helpless against someone who he had grown to care about and who was much physically stronger than him, was killed. Only a few minutes later, he was opening his eyes again, and his father was staring down at him. This only angered Artemis' father more - he was now convinced that his child was some kind of Antichrist. Artemis, in a rush of adrenaline, was able to strike their father down. The rest of the hour or so after his first death is a blur; Artemis remembers doing something with the body, knowing he would likely never be caught as his father was disliked in the community, and then he remembers... feeling kind of empty. At the time, he was sure his death had only been a near-death, and he tried not to think about it too hard.

Of course, when Artemis returned to the battlefield, he would be shot... only for the bullet to go straight through him and for the wound to heal almost immediately. Artemis struggled to deal with his newfound ability, and to understand it. The war ended, and life went on, and Artemis didn't age. He struggled with not believing in God but also thinking that the Devil had cursed him or something. It was only after meeting other Immortals that Artemis' situation finally dawned on him (more to be added once plotting w/ other characters happens). Art, at first, thought immortality might be fun. He soon realised that a life such as that was one which was destined to be lonely.

even later life

In 2005, Artemis fell in love with a University student. Desperate to make some aspect of his life actually worthwhile, Artemis pursued the relationship. Of course, his beloved was Mortal, and in breaking the news to him of Artemis' situation, Artemis' boyfriend ended things between them. More because he could not wrap his head around the notion that Artemis would live forever, and could heal, than that he was upset about dying without him. Artemis, already feeling hopeless and depressed, would find out a few months later that his ex-boyfriend was killed in a car accident. Reminded of his own Immortality, Artemis shut himself off from the outside world; even the Immortals, he barely wanted to know. He tried to give his life meaning by keeping up with the latest trends and fashions, but it was to no avail. Even the apocalypse barely affected him; he already did nothing all day, anyway.

gallery
misc

- Artemis is obsessed with Taylor Swift and listens to her music constantly; always has earphones ever since they were created
- He does not hide his hair/birthmark anymore
- His piercings and tattoos were his attempts, in the early 2000s, to feel like he was experiencing something exciting again. It sort of worked.
- to be added to

relationships

relationship 1

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum

relationship 2

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.

relationship 3

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.

♡design by natasha., coded by uxie♡

chamomile · Mar 22, 2021

filler

helm.

I LAUGH AT THE WORD ABSENCE. WHAT IS THE ABSENCE OF FREEDOM BUT AN ASSUMPTION OF IT?

in the blood

orpheus & eurydice

name

Nila Rahul Prabhakara

born

Neela Prabhakara Chettiyar
நீலா பிரபாகர் செட்டியார்

nickname(s)

Just Nila - She simplified the transcription in recent years. It means dark blue in Sanskrit.
Zero - 0, from Nil. Usually out of a little teasing but she's a bit of a blank slate at times.
Captain - Some of the other immortals met her while she was still at sea.

alias

Dvijati of Chola - Twice-born in Sanskrit. Given after her first death and used periodically.

gender

Cis woman (she/her), and enjoys presenting feminine for the most part.

age

Probably reached the thousand year old mark by now. Physically 29.

date of birth

April 1023 CE.

place of birth

Tanjore, the Chola Empire.

ethnicity

Tamil, Southern Indian.

sexual orientation

Polyamourous queer, graysexual.
.
visage

hair

Thick, curly, black hair reaching just above her ribs. In antiquity, she typically wore her hair braided and was fond of hairstyling, decorating it with flowers and tiaras. In wartimes, she kept her hair short and partially shaved. Nowadays, she hardly lets herself enjoy frivolous hair maintenance and simply coils her hair over one shoulder.

eyes

Dark brown, rich and warm. Her stare is sturdy, but never outright intimidating.

skin

Brown and rather tanned from decades under the sun, Nila would've been on the receiving end of colorist remarks if she lived in modern India.

modifications

Nila has multiple ear piercings and a few nose piercings, but she only wears those with the elaborate jewelry matching her sarees. She has a Sanskrit tattoo on her forearm which says Atman (आत्मन्) and a tattoo of a compass on her right foot.

distinguished features

Thick eyebrows, strong jaw. Used to consistently sport henna.

height

5' 8"

weight

137 lbs.

build

Lean

faceclaim

Archana Akil Kumar
psyche

brief summary

Nila hasn't stayed the same person in a millenia of life. Any of the others could pick out the distinct changes she went through. First: reserved, careful, mortal; secondly: curious, intrepid, affluent; thirdly: resentful, aggressive, ill-ease and the fourth life she's still living.

Modern Nila is vivacious and worldly. She maintains an illusion of being a social butterfly by how easy and affable she is despite her self-sufficient tendencies from years of working for herself. Nila expresses optimism in the face of history but it's hardly blind. Even with a strong pride in her identity and accomplishments as a medieval Indian woman, she finds any patriotic pursuits to be tragic as she witnesses the problems caused by the systems she grew up in. Her once spiritual outlook has been downplayed in recent years since it stopped giving her the kind of peace she needed.

Nila was well adapted to the aesthetics of modern society while a little more tentative with technologies. She had repeatedly invited the others to her apartments to treat them to the luxuries she could afford and made time should they ask her for any favours. Between the parties and museum visits, she became wholely hedonistic and rarely subtle in keeping a low profile, only taking the usual precautions to avoid suspicion out of convenience.

Nila can pretend she's unaffected by the events of the last century, but they all see through her front. They know she's been self medicating, they've been through that themselves.
.
.

virtues & vices

+ SHARP — Nila is quick on her feet and performs well under pressure, making great use of her intellectual prowess and practical experience. She picks up on wordless cues and could almost read the minds of her fellow immortals.

+ BUBBLY — Easy to laugh and full of life uncharacteristic of the apocalypse, Nila is rarely seen in a sour mood and wears her heart on her sleeve. She's carefree, approachable and usually gets along with any type of company. She can also be particularly snarky or openly affectionate.

+ TACTFUL — Her words are never meant to offend and she rarely insults someone even in arguments. Nila can be well-spoken even when she doesn't know the language well and recognises boundaries in human communication.

+ HONEST — Nila doesn't hide much from the rest of them. She's confident in standing up for herself, voicing her doubts and everyone can always rely on her to be express her truthful opinion.

= ROUTINE — A creature of habit is a side-effect to living as long as she did with sustainable self-care; waking up, making the bed, brewing tea. Nila settles into bookended habits to start her day and finish it.

= ADVENTUROUS — Nila likes to try new things, explore all possibilities and rarely deterred by risks, given she had extensively outlined them beforehand. She would be the first to jump into danger be it a supply run or a ravine.

x IMPATIENT — You could say that she's a little shallow for instant gratification. She always suggests immediate action and hates being kept waiting. The only exception is when she's at sea, relatively calm at the sight of waves.

x SELF RELIANT — As captain, she used to calling the shots and being the only one with the depth of knowledge in her field. Nila ends up isolating herself because she doesn't ask for help and is upset when things doesn't work out the way she wants.

x HEDONISTIC — It's the pirate in her. A mostly forever life means your material possessions do matter and Nila loved to indulge herself in luxury prior to the apocalypse. This hedonism is not lazy overconsumption rather an active pursuit of pleasure. She's too distracted over VIP parties, shiny rocks and exquisite carpets.

x WRATHFUL — Nila holds her fair share of repressed hatred and long grudges, in the form of tranquil fury. While it takes a lot to throw her over the edge, once you do she has no hesitations to start shooting or go to brutal lengths.

likes & dislikes

Nila has an appreciation for textiles, Persian rugs especially, since it reminds her of her mother. She adores tea with her favourites being masala chai along with Moroccan and Turkish flavours. She likes watching the sunset at beaches, dresses ruffled by winds, corresponding in letters with her contemporaries, discussing philosophy and stealing things she can't otherwise get. Nila loves taking photos, RnB music and is always pleasantly surprised of the convenience of technology.

Nila has a strong and obvious disdain towards Brits. Hates boats that has no sails, because who cares if it can go up to 50 knots if it goes nowhere without fuel. Doesn't wear anything with functional buttons on it.

nuance

Nila had long reconciled with her immortality within the first hundred years of living during her stay in Sri Lanka. She incorporated it within her Hindu beliefs, making reincarnation and apparent inability to do so compatible. That her consciousness was so present that she gets to keep her sense of self and instead reincarnating into new identities as time passes. In a way, that theory was proven true.

She mostly regarded her immortality in a neutral light, seeing no obligation to serve humanity and acted more like a outside observer doing what she loved. Mundane life seemed so much better than constantly starting from scratch. The good she did wasn't to fulfill dharma or to escape samsara, but only later did she intentionally want to put out more good in the world. The advent of war complicated her feelings somewhat.

After the outbreak, all she wants is to help the survivors and not take her immortal family for granted.
.

— Often seen barefoot in living spaces. Can't hold her liquor. Doesn't gamble. Rises early. Picked up social smoking but didn't get addicted. Was fascinated by cameras when they were first invented and used to keep a collection of vintage cameras before the apocalypse. Actually, she's been collecting trinkets long before it became cool.

— Nila learned English out of necessity and put it off for the longest time. She was pretty upset when English became the new lingua franca but knowing the other immortals, she has plenty of other options.

— She's particularly scared of deep waters, haunted by her first death by drowning because despite surviving the incident, she washed up out of luck. If it turned out any different, she would've ended up at the bottom of the ocean. Nila has done little to amend this fear and still hasn't learned how to swim.
.
.
biography

EARLY LIFE (1023—)

Neela Prabhakara Chettiyar was born in Tanjore, capital of the Chola Empire at the time, to vaishya parents; a merchant father and a weaver for a mother. She was fortunate enough to be well-educated and was bilingual in both Tamil and Sanskrit, later learning Arabic after exposure to her father's trading partners from the Abbasid Caliphate. Her mother had lived nearby while she and her older brother, Kiran, stayed in a hostel next to a temple where she learned to read and write. They rarely saw her father.

As a young teen, she and her brother finally got the chance to accompany their father on maritime trips which sparked her tentative interest in travelling and trade. It was on one of these trips they ran into pirates. They mistakenly set sail without any mercenaries from their merchant's guild aboard to protect the cargo and were captured without much struggle. Her brother tried to negotiate terms for their release and succeeded by relinquishing a large portion of spices, and himself as crewmember.

At 17, Neela received a letter signed in his name. He wrote to her about a safehaven port run by one of the pirate's wives and they could finally see each other for the first time in six years. She met the captain of his new Southeast Asian crew, Rahul who she married when she was 19. They had a daughter the following year named Aiswarya.

After his death Neela maintained power by sheer virtue of being his wife, leading confidently with Kiran by her side, who diligently taught her navigation and light combat from experience.

PIRACY CAREER, OR NOT (1046—)

Neela soon received her own ship with many of the original crewmembers while her daughter was raised in safehavens at port. She wasn't particularly ruthless as captain and she was largely a pacifist, brandishing her husband's khanda and katar to intimidate her enemies. Her piracy tenure was a short 3 years but in that time, Neela managed to amass a reputation alongside her brother, establishing rules for accepting women into her crew and managing accountacy of the goods.

In 1049, they both accepted the Royal Pardon and served the Chola Navy as karalla or privateers. Her crew grew into a sizable fleet of captured ships and she worked closely with Arab and Chinese sailors while guarding the coast, picking up a new language.

Once, her ship was captured and Neela had to argue for the safety of the crew. In an attempt to overpower them, she pulled out her sword and was stabbed multiple times in the ensuing fight, resulting in her body being thrown overboard. Neela bled out into the ocean, salt in her wounds and drowned. She died at 29.

Except she came to, washed up on a beach with no fatal wounds to speak of. Neela stayed with the locals in a state of shock until Kiran found her and took her home. Her crew, who survived the encounter, questioned her on what had happened but she only knows as much as they do. They said they saw her die. There was no other possibility. Her body didn't resurface until she woke up at that beach.

In the following days, Neela confided this to her brother who consoled her tears and held her tight in his arms, but the uneasiness didn't fade away. Later, local Brahmins claimed she was saved by Parvati and news of her miraculous survival spread. She was called Dvijati, encouraged to involve herself in the pursuit of spiritual knowledge. Scared, Neela brushed off the attention and focused on serving the navy at its peak. But the thought of her death continued to plague the back of her mind.

ENCOUNTERS IN SRI LANKA (1062—)

Neela acquired a home in Sri Lanka, retiring after marrying off her daughter to a trustworthy man. She had become increasingly paranoid at the incessant dreams she's been receiving, depicting the deaths of the other immortals and their pain seared into her memory. As her agelessness becomes more apparent to her, Neela stopped corresponding with Kiran or her daughter and goes into hiding.

It was then that she would meet the First and Second, who assuaged her fears somewhat. With them, she found peace in her death and the nightmares stopped. Neela wasn't ready to leave Sri Lanka for good, not until she was whole, not until she could feel the reaches of what her mortal self would've lived through. They gave her an approximate location and date should she want to find them in the future before going their separate ways.

Neela since learned from local mystics and revived her belief in religion, visiting towns all over the island as a stranger, as Dvijati. She explored her immortality, trained properly with her khanda and katar until she once again longed for the sea.

SRIVIJAYA & SUBSEQUENT TRAVELS (1099—)

Neela left for Srivijaya in 1099 which she was familiar with under Chola rule and established a merchant ship. She kept her crew small but strong, never stayed in port longer than necessary and has an unequivocal reputation for helping travelers. She frequently updated her ships to the fastest models, most without extensive artillery, and stayed in the seas of Southeast Asia for a little over 200 years, inspiring local legends as Usha Amuni, an epithet given to her at the time. She died a few times curbing local pirates and gangs.

She was barely aware of wars that occured beyond her comfortable corner of the world and hasn’t grasp the importance of participating in history as the rise of the Mongols and the Crusades happen in the background.

Neela expanded her horizons at the start of the Malaccan Sultanate to find the other immortals she kept dreaming of, and taken them as passangers if they intersected on her journey elsewhere. While she got to witness the start of the Renaissance in Italy, she also arrived in time for famine and the Black Death to sweep across Europe. She probably met the Healer then.

Throughout, Neela steered junks, brigantines, caravels, carracks and galleons, the last she kept for the longest and which she used to disrupt the European slave trade in West Africa. It was her reintroduction to the life of a pirate, a career extending for decades.

Neela had bonded deeply with her crew then, writing letters until their old age and mourned their deaths. She had multiple lovers during this time, primarily a Turkish woman whom she married.

SCHOLARLY PURSUITS, LATER THE RENAISSANCE (1557—)

Neela made multiple trips to India over the centuries, enjoying the Mughal Empire while it lasted under Akbar’s rule and found great appreciation in freedom of religion and cross-cultural development. Mingling in its court, she later married a Mughal prince and lived alongside actual Rajput princesses in the zenana. Neela enjoyed civil duties and accountancy of spending of the zenana, but she left before anything was amiss just as the next king was set to rule the state. Her husband hunted her down, initially worried but struck her when he found out she was leaving out of her own volition. Neela killed him in turn and escaped.

She was largely absent come the 17th and 18th century, limiting her involvement in a few conflicts with the East India Company, witnessing Kepler’s supernova and the Great Fire of London while studying sporadically between France and Italy. She opened herself up to new schools of thought per the Age of Enlightenment and learned multiple new languages during her stay including French, Latin and Venetian.

Neela was armed with only dresses and sarees when she arrived in Europe. She posed as an Indian princess of a small crown and went as Devijati of Chola, visiting for cultural affluence going so far as to afford a tutor, a translator and a bodyguard. This mostly relied on the ignorance of the Western world and the fact that no one would be able to investigate thoroughly since Chola was occupied by the Vijayanagara Empire at the time.

There she read books translated and published in Latin as well as being the subject of a few obscure paintings. The same ones she had to steal so her likeness doesn't appear in history under the advice of her senior immortals.

With the tense and growing Christian influence in Europe, Neela decided to spend time away and accompanied another immortal on a ship yet again.

RETURN TO INDIA AGAINST COLONIAL POWERS (1767—)

When she came back to foreigners scattered throughout India, Neela was critical of their governing and rightfully so as they continously stripped the country of its resources, causing multiple famines by cultivating cotton instead of food. The East India company was more powerful and less helpful to the local princes than when she last dealt with them. It was the first time Neela was willing to participate in large-scale fighting as she covertly went into the front lines in Anglo-Maratha and Anglo-Mysore Wars.

She later participated in the Indian rebellion of 1857 and watched the rise of the Indian National Congress as Viceroys implemented social reforms that weren't nearly enough and partitions to stamp out the Nationalistic movement.

It was during this time that Neela developed a deep, cutting resentment of the British, worsened with her repeated deaths and the losses she suffered leading to the exploitative treaties. She spent the better part of centuries being in a warring rage and a volatile ire. Neela was undergoing a rude awakening.

THE WORLD WARS, ARMY WOMAN (1914—1945)

India wanted to be an autonomous democratic nation so badly that they thought it'd be in their best interest to fight alongside the British in the wars. Seeing her countrymen willing to fight for the cause, Neela went to great lengths to disguise herself as a man during both wars.

She took part as cavalry on horseback and the rifles regiment on the Western Front, likely finding any immortal present but keeping her distance because she wasn't sound of mind. Neela was later transferred to the Palestine Campaign in 1918. In World War II, she fought in North Africa. She had died hundreds of times. She had thought this was where her immortality will fail when she wants to fight most, even if it's out of anger. But Neela survived.

The British did not reward them with self-government even with the imperative contributions they had given the war. And when the did, it was with such ineptitude. Neela watched the long back and forth for independence, watched Gandhi leading non-cooperation movements. And when their colonisers finally withdrew, it left the taste of copper in her mouth.

She cried in a dhow for days.

MODERN TIMES

Nila has spent the following years mellowed out.

She took the time to enjoy modern life in Europe and the Mediterranean, frequenting Morroco, Tunisia, Turkey and Italy. Her wealth was accumulated through most of her stolen gold, making sure to preserve each unique coin, melted into bars for her assets and later she kept in stocks. Her legal existence was akin to someone off the grid, and in criminal circles, it's said that she was a heiress with philanthropic tendencies but to whom was unknown.

Nila also attended a college in France in the early 2000s, studying urban planning and architecture of all things.

As of the apocalypse: To be plotted. She was likely in Italy when the outbreak happened and stole a yacht in the midst of the chaos.

gallery
expertise

LANGUAGES ━━━

In the order from when she learned them, in their classical versions first and later modern vernacular. Tamil, Sanskrit, Arabic, Mandarin, Malay, Persian, Hindi, Urdu, French, Latin, Italian, English.

She can read in most of them, but write in only a few.

STRENGTHS ━━━

Navigation - Mostly maritime centric knowledge like ocean currents, star constellations and map-reading.

Diplomacy - De-escalating violence and the art of compromise has its own benefits.

Commerce - Nila can identify the value of goods, knows if she's being ripped off and haggles like her life depends on it. She also recognises operational risks and long-term goals.

City Planning - What she can remember from her time in the classroom including things like planning theory, land use, and what goes into a city.

Other skills:
. Horseback riding, driving cars.
. Basic first-aid. Emergency radio.
. Cooking, sewing, upcycling.

WEAKNESSES ━━━

Specific Boats - Of course, the extent of Nila's sailing knowledge only applies to the vessels she's been on. She's also extremely partial to actual sailing boats and hates paddles.

Doesn't Pack Light - Carries sentimental value in all of her belongings, a bit of a hoarding problem really. When you're used to having a ship at your disposal, why limit yourself with a backpack?

Cold Temperatures - She has never been anywhere with weather that requires her to put a coat on.

Tracking Time - When telling stories about her travels, Nila never knows when things happened and relies on the other immortals for dates.

COMBAT ━━━

Nila picked up combat with her husband's khanda and a secondary katar. She's mostly a swordfighter even if she hasn't killed many as one.

She is practiced in rope moves like swinging, rope slides and zip lines. She acquired a keen sense of balance from her time on sea and isn't afraid to jump around the environment. Her style of combat often looks relentless as she takes any advantage she can get, but she would rather play her stealth cards first.

Primary Weapon - She uses an Aruval, a 4ft billhook battle machete and keeps a shorter spare as a multi-purpose tool for cutting food and foliage alike.

Firearms - Prefers rifles from her experience with muskets, has basic knowledge on sniping. She's not formally trained so her gun safety is questionable.

TOKENS ━━━

Gifts she collected and kept over the millenia includes a mixed bag of coins, several yaopei, a vintage compass and a Ganesha necklace.
.
.

relationships

Elektra

Daughter of Agamemnon and Clytemnesra, Elektra suffered through immense trauma shared with her brother Orestes over the death of their sister.

Gilgamesh

A Sumerian King who sought to avoid death and failed, reconciling his mortality when he returned to Uruk emptyhanded. Except he didn't, or so the story goes.

Ziying

The son of a government official studying for his imperial exam when he dies in a fire that enveloped his home.

♡ design by natasha. coded by uxie ♡

1
2
3
4
5

NAME
Nila Rahul Prabhakara

BORN
Neela Prabhakara Chettiyar
நீலா பிரபாகர் செட்டியார்

NICKNAME(S)
Just Nila - She simplified the transcription in recent years. It means dark blue in Sanskrit.
Zero - 0, from Nil. Usually out of a little teasing but she's a bit of a blank slate at times.
Captain - Some of the other immortals met her while she was still at sea.

ALIAS
Dvijati of Chola - Twice-born in Sanskrit. Given after her first death and used periodically.

GENDER
Cis woman (she/her), and enjoys presenting feminine for the most part.

AGE
Probably reached the thousand year old mark by now. Physically 29.

DATE OF BIRTH
April 1023 CE.

PLACE OF BIRTH
Tanjore, the Chola Empire.

ETHNICITY
Tamil, Southern Indian.

SEXUAL ORIENTATION
Polyamourous queer, graysexual.
HAIR
Thick, curly, black hair reaching just above her ribs. In antiquity, she typically wore her hair braided and was fond of hairstyling, decorating it with flowers and tiaras. In wartimes, she kept her hair short and partially shaved. Nowadays, she hardly lets herself enjoy frivolous hair maintenance and simply coils her hair over one shoulder.

EYES
Dark brown, rich and warm. Her stare is sturdy, but never outright intimidating.

SKIN
Brown and rather tanned from decades under the sun, Nila would've been on the receiving end of colorist remarks if she lived in modern India.

HEIGHT/WEIGHT
5' 8" / 137 lbs.

MODIFICATIONS
Nila has multiple ear piercings and a few nose piercings, but she only wears those with the elaborate jewelry matching her sarees. She has a Sanskrit tattoo on her forearm which says Atman (आत्मन्) and a tattoo of a compass on her right foot.

DISTINGUISHED FEATURES
Thick eyebrows, strong jaw. Used to consistently sport henna.
BRIEF SUMMARY
Nila hasn't stayed the same person in a millenia of life. Any of the others could pick out the distinct changes she went through. First: reserved, careful, mortal; secondly: curious, intrepid, affluent; thirdly: resentful, aggressive, ill-ease and the fourth life she's still living.

Modern Nila is vivacious and worldly. She maintains an illusion of being a social butterfly by how easy and affable she is despite her self-sufficient tendencies from years of working for herself. Nila expresses optimism in the face of history but it's hardly blind. Even with a strong pride in her identity and accomplishments as a medieval Indian woman, she finds any patriotic pursuits to be tragic as she witnesses the problems caused by the systems she grew up in. Her once spiritual outlook has been downplayed in recent years since it stopped giving her the kind of peace she needed.

Nila was well adapted to the aesthetics of modern society while a little more tentative with technologies. She had repeatedly invited the others to her apartments to treat them to the luxuries she could afford and made time should they ask her for any favours. Between the parties and museum visits, she became wholely hedonistic and rarely subtle in keeping a low profile, only taking the usual precautions to avoid suspicion out of convenience.

Nila can pretend she's unaffected by the events of the last century, but they all see through her front. They know she's been self medicating, they've been through that themselves.

VIRTUES & VICES
+ SHARP — Nila is quick on her feet and performs well under pressure, making great use of her intellectual prowess and practical experience. She picks up on wordless cues and could almost read the minds of her fellow immortals.

+ BUBBLY — Easy to laugh and full of life uncharacteristic of the apocalypse, Nila is rarely seen in a sour mood and wears her heart on her sleeve. She's carefree, approachable and usually gets along with any type of company. She can also be particularly snarky or openly affectionate.

+ TACTFUL — Her words are never meant to offend and she rarely insults someone even in arguments. Nila can be well-spoken even when she doesn't know the language well and recognises boundaries in human communication.

+ HONEST — Nila doesn't hide much from the rest of them. She's confident in standing up for herself, voicing her doubts and everyone can always rely on her to be express her truthful opinion.

= ROUTINE — A creature of habit is a side-effect to living as long as she did with sustainable self-care; waking up, making the bed, brewing tea. Nila settles into bookended habits to start her day and finish it.

= ADVENTUROUS — Nila likes to try new things, explore all possibilities and rarely deterred by risks, given she had extensively outlined them beforehand. She would be the first to jump into danger be it a supply run or a ravine.

x IMPATIENT — You could say that she's a little shallow for instant gratification. She always suggests immediate action and hates being kept waiting. The only exception is when she's at sea, relatively calm at the sight of waves.

x SELF RELIANT — As captain, she used to calling the shots and being the only one with the depth of knowledge in her field. Nila ends up isolating herself because she doesn't ask for help and is upset when things doesn't work out the way she wants.

x HEDONISTIC — It's the pirate in her. A mostly forever life means your material possessions do matter and Nila loved to indulge herself in luxury prior to the apocalypse. This hedonism is not lazy overconsumption rather an active pursuit of pleasure. She's too distracted over VIP parties, shiny rocks and exquisite carpets.

x WRATHFUL — Nila holds her fair share of repressed hatred and long grudges, in the form of tranquil fury. While it takes a lot to throw her over the edge, once you do she has no hesitations to start shooting or go to brutal lengths.

LIKES & DISLIKES
Nila has an appreciation for textiles, Persian rugs especially, since it reminds her of her mother. She adores tea with her favourites being masala chai along with Moroccan and Turkish flavours. She likes watching the sunset at beaches, dresses ruffled by winds, corresponding in letters with her contemporaries, discussing philosophy and stealing things she can't otherwise get. Nila loves taking photos, RnB music and is always pleasantly surprised of the convenience of technology.

Nila has a strong and obvious disdain towards Brits. Hates boats that has no sails, because who cares if it can go up to 50 knots if it goes nowhere without fuel. Doesn't wear anything with functional buttons on it.

NUANCE
Nila had long reconciled with her immortality within the first hundred years of living during her stay in Sri Lanka. She incorporated it within her Hindu beliefs, making reincarnation and apparent inability to do so compatible. That her consciousness was so present that she gets to keep her sense of self and instead reincarnating into new identities as time passes. In a way, that theory was proven true.

She mostly regarded her immortality in a neutral light, seeing no obligation to serve humanity and acted more like a outside observer doing what she loved. Mundane life seemed so much better than constantly starting from scratch. The good she did wasn't to fulfill dharma or to escape samsara, but only later did she intentionally want to put out more good in the world. The advent of war complicated her feelings somewhat.

After the outbreak, all she wants is to help the survivors and not take her immortal family for granted.

— Often seen barefoot in living spaces. Can't hold her liquor. Doesn't gamble. Rises early. Picked up social smoking but didn't get addicted. Was fascinated by cameras when they were first invented and used to keep a collection of vintage cameras before the apocalypse. Actually, she's been collecting trinkets long before it became cool.

— Nila learned English out of necessity and put it off for the longest time. She was pretty upset when English became the new lingua franca but knowing the other immortals, she has plenty of other options.

— She's particularly scared of deep waters, haunted by her first death by drowning because despite surviving the incident, she washed up out of luck. If it turned out any different, she would've ended up at the bottom of the ocean. Nila has done little to amend this fear and still hasn't learned how to swim.
EARLY LIFE (1023—)
Neela Prabhakara Chettiyar was born in Tanjore, capital of the Chola Empire at the time, to vaishya parents; a merchant father and a weaver for a mother. She was fortunate enough to be well-educated and was bilingual in both Tamil and Sanskrit, later learning Arabic after exposure to her father's trading partners from the Abbasid Caliphate. Her mother had lived nearby while she and her older brother, Kiran, stayed in a hostel next to a temple where she learned to read and write. They rarely saw her father.

As a young teen, she and her brother finally got the chance to accompany their father on maritime trips which sparked her tentative interest in travelling and trade. It was on one of these trips they ran into pirates. They mistakenly set sail without any mercenaries from their merchant's guild aboard to protect the cargo and were captured without much struggle. Her brother tried to negotiate terms for their release and succeeded by relinquishing a large portion of spices, and himself as crewmember.

At 17, Neela received a letter signed in his name. He wrote to her about a safehaven port run by one of the pirate's wives and they could finally see each other for the first time in six years. She met the captain of his new Southeast Asian crew, Rahul who she married when she was 19. They had a daughter the following year named Aiswarya.

After his death Neela maintained power by sheer virtue of being his wife, leading confidently with Kiran by her side, who diligently taught her navigation and light combat from experience.

PIRACY CAREER, OR NOT (1046—)
Neela soon received her own ship with many of the original crewmembers while her daughter was raised in safehavens at port. She wasn't particularly ruthless as captain and she was largely a pacifist, brandishing her husband's khanda and katar to intimidate her enemies. Her piracy tenure was a short 3 years but in that time, Neela managed to amass a reputation alongside her brother, establishing rules for accepting women into her crew and managing accountacy of the goods.

In 1049, they both accepted the Royal Pardon and served the Chola Navy as karalla or privateers. Her crew grew into a sizable fleet of captured ships and she worked closely with Arab and Chinese sailors while guarding the coast, picking up a new language.

Once, her ship was captured and Neela had to argue for the safety of the crew. In an attempt to overpower them, she pulled out her sword and was stabbed multiple times in the ensuing fight, resulting in her body being thrown overboard. Neela bled out into the ocean, salt in her wounds and drowned. She died at 29.

Except she came to, washed up on a beach with no fatal wounds to speak of. Neela stayed with the locals in a state of shock until Kiran found her and took her home. Her crew, who survived the encounter, questioned her on what had happened but she only knows as much as they do. They said they saw her die. There was no other possibility. Her body didn't resurface until she woke up at that beach.

In the following days, Neela confided this to her brother who consoled her tears and held her tight in his arms, but the uneasiness didn't fade away. Later, local Brahmins claimed she was saved by Parvati and news of her miraculous survival spread. She was called Dvijati, encouraged to involve herself in the pursuit of spiritual knowledge. Scared, Neela brushed off the attention and focused on serving the navy at its peak. But the thought of her death continued to plague the back of her mind.

ENCOUNTERS IN SRI LANKA (1062—)
Neela acquired a home in Sri Lanka, retiring after marrying off her daughter to a trustworthy man. She had become increasingly paranoid at the incessant dreams she's been receiving, depicting the deaths of the other immortals and their pain seared into her memory. As her agelessness becomes more apparent to her, Neela stopped corresponding with Kiran or her daughter and goes into hiding.

It was then that she would meet the First and Second, who assuaged her fears somewhat. With them, she found peace in her death and the nightmares stopped. Neela wasn't ready to leave Sri Lanka for good, not until she was whole, not until she could feel the reaches of what her mortal self would've lived through. They gave her an approximate location and date should she want to find them in the future before going their separate ways.

Neela since learned from local mystics and revived her belief in religion, visiting towns all over the island as a stranger, as Dvijati. She explored her immortality, trained properly with her khanda and katar until she once again longed for the sea.

SRIVIJAYA & SUBSEQUENT TRAVELS (1099—)
Neela left for Srivijaya in 1099 which she was familiar with under Chola rule and established a merchant ship. She kept her crew small but strong, never stayed in port longer than necessary and has an unequivocal reputation for helping travelers. She frequently updated her ships to the fastest models, most without extensive artillery, and stayed in the seas of Southeast Asia for a little over 200 years, inspiring local legends as Usha Amuni, an epithet given to her at the time. She died a few times curbing local pirates and gangs.

She was barely aware of wars that occured beyond her comfortable corner of the world and hasn’t grasp the importance of participating in history as the rise of the Mongols and the Crusades happen in the background.

Neela expanded her horizons at the start of the Malaccan Sultanate to find the other immortals she kept dreaming of, and taken them as passangers if they intersected on her journey elsewhere. While she got to witness the start of the Renaissance in Italy, she also arrived in time for famine and the Black Death to sweep across Europe. She probably met the Healer then.

Throughout, Neela steered junks, brigantines, caravels, carracks and galleons, the last she kept for the longest and which she used to disrupt the European slave trade in West Africa. It was her reintroduction to the life of a pirate, a career extending for decades.

Neela had bonded deeply with her crew then, writing letters until their old age and mourned their deaths. She had multiple lovers during this time, primarily a Turkish woman whom she married.

SCHOLARLY PURSUITS, LATER THE RENAISSANCE (1557—)
Neela made multiple trips to India over the centuries, enjoying the Mughal Empire while it lasted under Akbar’s rule and found great appreciation in freedom of religion and cross-cultural development. Mingling in its court, she later married a Mughal prince and lived alongside actual Rajput princesses in the zenana. Neela enjoyed civil duties and accountancy of spending of the zenana, but she left before anything was amiss just as the next king was set to rule the state. Her husband hunted her down, initially worried but struck her when he found out she was leaving out of her own volition. Neela killed him in turn and escaped.

She was largely absent come the 17th and 18th century, limiting her involvement in a few conflicts with the East India Company, witnessing Kepler’s supernova and the Great Fire of London while studying sporadically between France and Italy. She opened herself up to new schools of thought per the Age of Enlightenment and learned multiple new languages during her stay including French, Latin and Venetian.

Neela was armed with only dresses and sarees when she arrived in Europe. She posed as an Indian princess of a small crown and went as Devijati of Chola, visiting for cultural affluence going so far as to afford a tutor, a translator and a bodyguard. This mostly relied on the ignorance of the Western world and the fact that no one would be able to investigate thoroughly since Chola was occupied by the Vijayanagara Empire at the time.

There she read books translated and published in Latin as well as being the subject of a few obscure paintings. The same ones she had to steal so her likeness doesn't appear in history under the advice of her senior immortals.

With the tense and growing Christian influence in Europe, Neela decided to spend time away and accompanied another immortal on a ship yet again.

RETURN TO INDIA AGAINST COLONIAL POWERS (1767—)
When she came back to foreigners scattered throughout India, Neela was critical of their governing and rightfully so as they continously stripped the country of its resources, causing multiple famines by cultivating cotton instead of food. The East India company was more powerful and less helpful to the local princes than when she last dealt with them. It was the first time Neela was willing to participate in large-scale fighting as she covertly went into the front lines in Anglo-Maratha and Anglo-Mysore Wars.

She later participated in the Indian rebellion of 1857 and watched the rise of the Indian National Congress as Viceroys implemented social reforms that weren't nearly enough and partitions to stamp out the Nationalistic movement.

It was during this time that Neela developed a deep, cutting resentment of the British, worsened with her repeated deaths and the losses she suffered leading to the exploitative treaties. She spent the better part of centuries being in a warring rage and a volatile ire. Neela was undergoing a rude awakening.

THE WORLD WARS, ARMY WOMAN (1914—1945)
India wanted to be an autonomous democratic nation so badly that they thought it'd be in their best interest to fight alongside the British in the wars. Seeing her countrymen willing to fight for the cause, Neela went to great lengths to disguise herself as a man during both wars.

She took part as cavalry on horseback and the rifles regiment on the Western Front, likely finding any immortal present but keeping her distance because she wasn't sound of mind. Neela was later transferred to the Palestine Campaign in 1918. In World War II, she fought in North Africa. She had died hundreds of times. She had thought this was where her immortality will fail when she wants to fight most, even if it's out of anger. But Neela survived.

The British did not reward them with self-government even with the imperative contributions they had given the war. And when the did, it was with such ineptitude. Neela watched the long back and forth for independence, watched Gandhi leading non-cooperation movements. And when their colonisers finally withdrew, it left the taste of copper in her mouth.

She cried in a dhow for days.

MODERN TIMES
Nila has spent the following years mellowed out.

She took the time to enjoy modern life in Europe and the Mediterranean, frequenting Morroco, Tunisia, Turkey and Italy. Her wealth was accumulated through most of her stolen gold, making sure to preserve each unique coin, melted into bars for her assets and later she kept in stocks. Her legal existence was akin to someone off the grid, and in criminal circles, it's said that she was a heiress with philanthropic tendencies but to whom was unknown.

Nila also attended a college in France in the early 2000s, studying urban planning and architecture of all things.

As of the apocalypse: To be plotted. She was likely in Italy when the outbreak happened and stole a yacht in the midst of the chaos.
LANGUAGES ━━━
In the order from when she learned them, in their classical versions first and later modern vernacular. Tamil, Sanskrit, Arabic, Mandarin, Malay, Persian, Hindi, Urdu, French, Latin, Italian, English.

She can read in most of them, but write in only a few.

STRENGTHS ━━━
Navigation - Mostly maritime centric knowledge like ocean currents, star constellations and map-reading.

Diplomacy - De-escalating violence and the art of compromise has its own benefits.

Commerce - Nila can identify the value of goods, knows if she's being ripped off and haggles like her life depends on it. She also recognises operational risks and long-term goals.

City Planning - What she can remember from her time in the classroom including things like planning theory, land use, and what goes into a city.

Other skills:
. Horseback riding, driving cars.
. Basic first-aid. Emergency radio.
. Cooking, sewing, upcycling.

WEAKNESSES ━━━
Specific Boats - Of course, the extent of Nila's sailing knowledge only applies to the vessels she's been on. She's also extremely partial to actual sailing boats and hates paddles.

Doesn't Pack Light - Carries sentimental value in all of her belongings, a bit of a hoarding problem really. When you're used to having a ship at your disposal, why limit yourself with a backpack?

Cold Temperatures - She has never been anywhere with weather that requires her to put a coat on.

Tracking Time - When telling stories about her travels, Nila never knows when things happened and relies on the other immortals for dates.

COMBAT ━━━
Nila picked up combat with her husband's khanda and a secondary katar. She's mostly a swordfighter even if she hasn't killed many as one.

She is practiced in rope moves like swinging, rope slides and zip lines. She acquired a keen sense of balance from her time on sea and isn't afraid to jump around the environment. Her style of combat often looks relentless as she takes any advantage she can get, but she would rather play her stealth cards first.

Primary Weapon - She uses an Aruval, a 4ft billhook battle machete and keeps a shorter spare as a multi-purpose tool for cutting food and foliage alike.

Firearms - Prefers rifles from her experience with muskets, has basic knowledge on sniping. She's not formally trained so her gun safety is questionable.

TOKENS ━━━
Gifts she collected and kept over the millenia includes a mixed bag of coins, several yaopei, a vintage compass and a Ganesha necklace.

mikaluvkitties · Mar 25, 2021

BASICS
Role: The First
Name: She'd know it if she heard it... She thinks.
Nicknames/aliases: There's been so many.... She thinks the main one right now is Ruth? Ruth is a common name now, right? (It is Ruth, but it's a 50/50 chance she recognizes that when you say Ruth you mean her. Name changes as little as necessary.)
Gender: She doesn't remember. Usually, it doesn't bother her- So much time has passed and so many things have changed. She's not sure that whatever she has could truly be explained to a modern human and it's not like she's done anything related to it in centuries. She can't even remember the ways she used to honor her role in her society of birth. But sometimes she misses the feeling of caring- Of it mattering. (Mentioning Ruth is AMAB bc her face claim is and I don't want any confusion!!)
Age/D.O.B: They stopped counting years ago. (7500s-ish)
P.O.B: Modern-day Senegal, though she sure as hell could not tell you that.
Race/ethnicity: Treated as Black/It's been so long she barely remembers snippets of what it meant, let alone what it was
Sexual Orientation: So listen. Sexual orientation is weird on a good day. But she has so many labels and attitudes and things she just didn't understand and sometimes some young human would tell her that the word she was using to try and get across her preferences was offensive now and it was location dependent- There is too much to it. As far as she is concerned, it doesn't matter, because as she has learned, mortals are born dust and are unworthy of her affections. A fellow immortal might be an option, but she's seen the ways they look at her these days. No thanks.

VISAGE
Physicality: Once at least average, Ruth is now on the shorter side, especially with the company she keeps, at 5'7". During the beginning of humanity's fall, she was overweight and the only reason it didn't stick was lack of food. She's now fairly underweight and has begun losing muscle mass on top of everything else.
Hair: Curly, short black
Eyes: Dark brown
Skin: Dark brown
Body modifications: Very old ritual scarification on her chest, back, shoulder and ribs
Face claim: Le Diouck

PSYCHE
Brief summary: Ruth is living proof that death exists for a reason.

She's been around a long time and though she still learns things with ease, she has more than a bit of trouble keeping her facts straight. She can tell you in detail about the taste of the beef following a battle with long-dead immortals only she and The Second remember but she can't tell you where it was or when or who they were fighting or why. She can't even tell you what those she shared the meal with looked like. If she thinks about it, she's not even sure that's where the memory of beef is from.

And it would be one thing if the only consequence of living so long was finding herself lost in the details, but it's not. The little things lose their meaning when you see them enough times. She sees the sunset and feels the rain, but what does it matter after tens of thousands of such experiences? What's the point of one human life after watching so many fade quickly and slowly and often for no reason except the callousness of others? What's it matter, anyways, when they're going to be gone in as quick as a blink regardless?

It would be a mistake to call her cruel, because she isn't. She doesn't seek to hurt others without cause- She just doesn't care if anyone other than a fellow immortal dies. A human life just isn't worth that much.

Despite her trouble with the details and morality, she does have her positives. You can't live as long as she has and not pick up at least a couple tricks for almost any situation you'll find yourself in and she's got a broad enough range of experiences that if one plan fails, there's probably another one she can flip to as needed. It's hard to ruffle her, given that she's the embodiment of 'been there, done that', and she's been around long enough that it's hard to see anything less than the grander scheme of things.

She doesn't see the value of keeping secrets and has had it come back to bit her enough times that she'll tell you exactly what she thinks and get to the heart of her thoughts... though she won't be nice about it.

Ruth has always been blunt and moody and difficult, but more than that, Ruth used to love. She loved brightly and recklessly and fought for the bright recklessness she saw in others. She told stories and didn’t care when she mixed up the details. She saw the beauty in a fleeting moment- Every sunset unique, each raindrop falling for the first time. She was old and you could tell, but she was still benevolent. Sure, tracking time still befuddled her and words changed meaning too much for her to track easily, but she delighted in it- There was always something new, even when you thought you’d seen it all. But maybe you can only have so much of the bad stay the same before you come undone.

5+ positive traits:
+ Clever
+ Adaptable
+ Calm
+ Far-sighted
+ Honest
+ Persistent
+ Precise

5+ negative traits:
- Blunt
- Cold-hearted
- Callous
- Cynical
- Asocial
- Difficult
- Moody

Fears: Being like this forever. Being here forever. More a discomfort but places where light blots out the stars. Any place that she finds unusually dark.
Aspirations: To die.
Habits: Light sleeper. Tends to be up to watch the sun and to go to bed late in the night. Chews on her thumbs when she's thinking. Hums and occasionally sings when going from one place to the next. Though she didn't used to be, she's grown still in the last half a millennia or so. Before that, there was always something in her hands- Something she could do.

EXPERTISE
Strengths:
+ Jack of all trades : She's old as shit and has spent a large amount of said life transfixed by what people can make- Food, drink, weapon, building... She's by no means the best at any of it and much of the exacts are gone until she starts back up again, rust falling away, but she's decent at a surprising amount of things.
+ Organizing others : Ruth knows her way around people- She knows how to get people to do things and who to win to her side to move and unite a mass.

Weaknesses:
- Passive : A lot of problems arise and get worse around Ruth not because she couldn't fix them if she tried, but because she doesn't bother trying in the first place. She's become quite happy to watch everything go to shit as her old bones wither to nothing.
- Alienating : Ruth doesn't think like most modern people because she isn't a modern person and, worse than that, she doesn't care to try. She's well past the point of pretending to care how time's being measured or the intricacies of some philosophical problem. And she's not nice about it. She rolls her eyes, doesn't pay attention, and has even been known to scoff at people just trying to help.
-

Combat: She took to guns relatively quickly, largely TBA upon fleshing out history.
Languages: English, French, Mandarin, Arabic, Hindi, largely TBA upon fleshing out history.

HISTORY

Ruth doesn't remember much of her time before immortality- Less than a percent of her life and so far back, can she really be blamed? She knows she was settled. She knows she loved her village and almost everyone within it- That even when they fought internally, they were kind to her and treated her as their own child. There are snippets of memory- Her father's hands warm and rough over her own, shaping the warm clay beneath her fingers, or the half-remembered verve of her older sister's voice. She remembers her initiation rights- The pain, sure, but more importantly the ecstasy. It had mattered to her. Her scars still matter, even if she can't recall for the life of her the meaning behind them. She knows she was happy.

And then she died.

All this time later, she still remembers the first time she came back. She remembers the bodies and her confusion- Her fear. Death was meant to be permanent, and she had known she was dying. She had felt the blood slipping through despite the pressure of her hands, the weakness. She had known it was too late. And she woke up without a scratch.

When her people couldn't find it in their hearts to bring her back into the fold, how could she blame them? You died and you stayed dead- It was as simple as that. Something like this... Not even she believed she had come back anything other than wrong. She was something that should not be. The only thing that kept her going in the days she died more often than she didn't, wandering the Green Sahara aimlessly and avoiding fellow humans whenever she could out of fear she might do something unforgivable, was the dreams. When they started, there were three others, though she only ever met two.

She doesn't know how long she avoided other people- She knows it felt like an eternity, but she's old enough to know that how it felt means nothing. But eventually, long before civilization as we know it began to take off, she couldn't ignore people anymore.

Well, maybe it's more correct to say Ruth had never been able to stand by and watch people be hurt, possibility of evil influence be damned. To be honest, she doesn't remember the exact details of what happened. What she remembers is meeting the first of many loves in what would be an eon of them. She remembers thinking they were the most beautiful person she had ever seen. That was what initially kept her there, but as she began to learn more and more about them, she was drawn in by their kindness and her perseverance.

Back then, Ruth didn't know she was immortal. If she had, there's no doubt in her mind she would have left. In the past, it was one of the many small things she used to hold close- A small blessing she didn't know. That she allowed herself to fall in love with them, even if she doesn't remember her name. She remembers how they made her feel. She settled in with their family, becoming something like an aunt to their children. It's where they first learned to fish- Where they first encountered boats, specifically canoes. They found peace in the work, enchanted by the way they carried people in the water.

It was a simple life- A good life.

She lived long enough to notice she wasn't aging. Those around her began to grow uncomfortable. She did as well. She tried to hang on to her relationships, to feel anything but terror- She had long accepted she wouldn't die unnaturally, but she hadn't expected old age to be denied to her. She stayed as long as she could- As long as her love would have her. And she would have her a long while longer- Until she died.

Ruth had known it was coming, but that didn't make it any easier. She tried to stay, thinking that maybe she could use this curse she'd been granted to at least protect her love's children, but it just hurt. The alienation of the community sank in, and so again she left.

She doesn't remember much before ending up in Egypt except that it was lonely. She doesn't remember much of Egypt. She remembers traveling. She knows that later she would discover near-misses with one of the other immortals, though she couldn't recall now where it may have occurred.

She remembers the way her heart had ached at having missed an opportunity to meet them sooner- To have had that sense of belonging, of having a place in the world.

But she wouldn't meet them for several hundred years and it was impossible to isolate for that long unless she wanted to die constantly and brutally. So even as it burned her, she engaged in communities, forced to care for those in her community and watch them die unsure if she ever would.

And eventually she couldn't avoid falling in love again. It came fast and hard and was again returned and she couldn't bring herself to leave. She just couldn't.

That first time, knowing that her love would age and die in front of her... It tainted everything. It felt impossible to give her anything, but despite herself, she did. She gave a lot of her. And when she died, it ached.

But she needed people- Needed company- as things changed in ways she had never been meant to see. She fell in love with a hundred people in a hundred ways- As teachers, as mentors, as friends, as family. And it wasn't that the loss got easier- It ached every single time in a way that never went away, not fully- but she found the beauty in the fleeting. She found herself not only willing to disclose her inability to die or age, but trusting those around her to stay despite it. And sometimes they didn't, but sometimes they did, and she loved them just as she would hundreds more.

The most shocking thing she discovered was this: Loving someone leads to loving someone else and slowly, she fell in love with the world. And that was when she once again became willing to die for others. She protected her communities and began to suck up as much as she could, never before a warrior but willing to learn for the good of her people and those beyond. Though it rarely worked out as neatly as all that, it was a nice thought at its heart.

Despite it, war wasn't anywhere near a constant in her life- More a thing to take up as a last resort. She didn't travel to battles, didn't seek out fights, and only occasionally ended up moderator to minor fights.

She still didn't fit. The humans she traveled between loved her, yes, but they didn't understand- Couldn't understand- what it was like not to die. And outside of those, she was often feared and shunned, though she couldn't blame those that looked at her and saw an affront to the planet that birthed them all.

And she still dreamt. Very rarely, she confided her dreams and the worries they brought her to a friend. She was there as the world began to rise around her, growing into something new and unfamiliar. And with others by her side, all she felt was wonder at the sight of it.

She finally ran into another immortal hundreds of years after her own first death. The feeling of seeing someone she had known in her heart had to be real but had only ever seen in dreams, a lifeline unconfirmable until that very moment... She couldn't describe it even if she tried. It is very hard for her to exist in a world where so few of her fellow immortals have ever felt that exact relief. It was one thing to wait decades and quite another to wait centuries.

Once they met and bonded, her life came into a focus she had never before felt. She had been wandering alone for so many centuries and now she finally had someone else who knew what it was like and had a very simple question: "What do we do now?"

The answer was, of course, find the others.

[hahaha we’ll fill this in later. i feel we’ve got a good enough grasp on her that i can come back to this once i’m fitting in the other immortals, too]

If you stripped Ruth's history searching for the moment the rot broke her, you wouldn't find it. There was no dramatic moment the First fell to pieces. It was a slow thing- The kind of thing where you don't notice it's happening until it's already complete and you're left wondering where that person who had loved and who you had loved with all your heart went.

There are still pieces that brought it together, though they stretch back farther than most of the other immortals remember.

In a way, it started when that third nameless immortal died. Ruth hadn't been able to let it go- That someone had existed for an eternity, haunted by the dreams of people they would never meet- the only people who could have understood- and surrounded by those who couldn't. She doesn't know who they were, or where they were, but she knows that they died before they could mean anything beyond hope.

The death of her eldest friends didn't help. When she met the Second, there had been three of them, working as a team, guiding and loving each other, every decision made together. They were all old enough to not know how old they were and by the time they'd met, each had been well through the initial pains. It was different with a fresh immortal.

She had leaned on them heavily with the arrival of the Second. The first time an immortal she knew died was soon they had finally settled. It had hit her hard, but not as hard as it would to lose the other.

And none of that would hurt as much as to see a world she had traveled full of people she knew capable of such great kindness and love who she herself loved again and again led to hurt each other. In her early years, she had been able to numb herself to it. After the first time a part of the world seemed to fall to ruin only to come back once again, strong and well-formed, joining that which had gone on without it, she had been able to convince herself that things always got better. But things only seemed to get worse- People just wanted to hurt people.

There are a million and one things that could go here- Colonialism or the American slave trade or Hiroshima or any of the several genocides or the first and second world wars and even more beyond this meager list.

That is what hurt. She grew used to watching those she cared for die, but to watch it over and over again, more and more pointless as it went on?

And with time, mortals mattered less and less. They were so eager to spend their short lives tearing things to shreds or ignoring it around them or, worst of all, being torn to shreds themselves. It was so much easier to pretend that the immortals she had sunk herself into, who had for years admired her, mattered more. It was even easier with the simple effect of far too long a life bleeding her lives together, details lost in an ungainly morass of memory.

After all that, nothing felt special. She had seen the sun before, had seen children smile days before they died. She found, to the horror of some small part of her she could squash, that it was easier like this. So she sank deeper into it even as the way the others looked at her began to change and she got in deep enough that even if she wanted to there's no guaranteed way out.

mxlly · Mar 27, 2021

The Soldier

T

heocritus

I have a need of wilder, crueler waves;
They sicken of the calm, who knew the storm.

PROPHECY

ROLE The Soldier
NAME Theocritus, Theodore Beaufort.
NICKNAME/S Theo, Teddy.
AGE 3171 (est.).
APPEARS Late 20s, early 30s.
GENDER Cis-man.
PRONOUNS Uses he/him pronouns.
SEXUALITY Unlabelled, queer.
YEAR OF BIRTH 1120 BCE (est.).
PLACE OF BIRTH Arcadia, Greece.
ETHNICITY Greek — Egyptian.

-----------------------------------------------------------

VISAGE Standing a centimeter or two above 5' 10, Theo was considerably above average height for a Mycenaean soldier. He has an athletic build with broad shoulders, his years of fighting have kept his figure toned and in shape. However, he is certainly not as brawny as he had once been, and is approximately 81kg (180lbs). His skin is a warm beige with olive undertones that bronzes in the summer, scarcely dotted with few dark freckles. Theo's hair is a thick, wavy, dark brown that curls past the nape of his neck, and his eyes are deep-set and hazel-green, with undertones of caramel. Theo most closely resembles Tamino Fouad.

-----------------------------------------------------------

PSYCE Callous, distant, and often times, cynical — most things Theocritus says seem ill-considered. His personality has a tendency to be polarising as his humor is dry and coated in several layers of sarcasm, his mischievous expression making it difficult to decipher when he's actually being serious. In spite of his light-hearted jabs and a seemingly rash approach to life, there is a disconnect between his devil-may-care appearance and what lies beneath; he can seem...empty. Theo will simply short-circuit when presented with a serious conversation, as his apathetic attitude is the only thing stopping him from drowning. He has had witnessed too much death — fragmented images of those he stole life from plague his dreams; the guilt chewing its way through his body, leaving him bitter. But he isn't heartless. Moments of humanity still flicker within Theo; his flame not entirely snuffed. He finds solace in music and has a fondness for playing the Bouzouki, as well as finding humor in the most mundane of things — such as watching the way a duck waddles what? it's cute. And deep down (although he cares not to admit it) there lives that disciple of Apollo; righteous, driven, and dedicated to averting evil.

POSITIVES Adaptable, courageous, devoted, observant, sharp-witted.

NEGATIVES Apathetic, arrogant, callous, jaundiced, impetuous.

FEARS Theocritus awaits the day that death will greet him, and the souls of those he ended will rip him apart upon entering the House of Hades. He is haunted by those he's slain in the dark, and fears that there will never be a time he can feel at peace, feel — normal, as he would never truly deserve it. He also thinks spiders are pretty freaky.

ASPIRATIONS To be reborn without guilt. Theo knows this to be impossible, but still dreams of purging his visions of regret from his mind. He also wishes to grow old and perhaps one day, meet his sister in the afterlife — though is fearful that he would not recognize her face.

HABITS Theo, oftentimes, finds himself disconnected from the world around him, as if his earthly tether has been cut. His mind will go blank and he will go quiet, trying to recall who he was and what era this is. In Theo's current life, he prefers to shut down when topics get heavy or arguments get heated, leading to him — more often than not, excusing himself from a conversation without a word. On a lighter note, Theo likes to sculpt and create art, having learnt from artists such as Polyclitus and Caravaggio. He likes to be expressive with his painting, and a large portion of his clothes are stained with paint. Additionally, despite his long life, Theo is still quite awkward and feels the need to constantly be alert; standing rigidly in a room despite being offered a seat.

-----------------------------------------------------------

STRENGTHES Team work; Theo has served in enough armed forces to understand the value of good cooperation and communication. Working as a general, corporal, private, etc., he's experienced the consequences of being rash in battle and high-pressure situations. As a result, he has also become quite a proficient strategist. Despite his occasional shortness when it comes to socializing, one can trust that Theo's plans are well-thought-out and thorough. He has also developed great physical strength and endurance, especially in his upper body as he is most proficient in archery.

WEAKNESSES Theo has a tendency to be dishonest with his feelings, relying on humour to mask emotion; but what had once been a coping mechanism has turned into a crutch. need to add more...

COMBAT: Theocritus' weapon of choice is a Turkish bow. Although he has much experience in melee combat, his accuracy with an arrow is something that he has relied on throughout the millennia. As weaponry has evolved, he has maintained his marksmanship and is proficient with long-range firearms. Accompanying this, Theo is good at surveillance work and covering his teammates in combat. When at the forefront of a melee, he will typically wield a xiphos sword and is comfortable in hand-to-hand combat and grappling. He is also quite receptive to his surroundings under-pressure, trusting his intuition in battle and putting the safety of his teammates before himself.

LANGUAGES Greek (Doric, Mycenean, Tsakonian, Italiot Greek, Romano-Greek Koine etc.), Latium, Italian, Old Anatolian Turkish, Instanbul Turkish, Coptic language, Arabic, Old & Middle Persian, French, English.

-----------------------------------------------------------

BACKSTORY First born in 1120 BCE, Theocritis was the son of Achaean — Egyptian parents. He lived with them in the region of Acadia, Greece, tending to their wheat farm with his twin sister, Theodosia. Theocritus was a pacifist. He avoided conflict where he could and used to get sick at the sight of blood. A hard worker, Theocritis rode from his home to the city of Mycenae at the age of 18 to trade goods. During this time, tensions had been brewing in the larger cities as Sparta teetered on the edge of a war with the Anatolian city of Troy, and Theo was approached by Spartan soldiers — coerced into participating in the war. He was reluctantly sailed from Aulis to Troy, making a friend in a Spartan soldier, Pericles. Theocritus, though inexperienced in the ways of war, survived for 10 years before he was slaughtered by a spear through the chest on Anatolian shores. Pericles dragged his body to a temple of Apollo and prayed for Theocritis' life, his calls seemingly answered as Theo's chest began to rise and fall. Spared by the gods — for what reason? Pericles was not so fortunate as he fell a week before the end of the war.

The war had ended and Theo was now indebted to Apollo. He returned to his family and married a local artisan, having both a son and a daughter. He was thankful that he could now return to the quiet life — however, as the years rolled by, he noticed that his wife and sister had become grey and his children were now mistaken for his siblings. The god of healing had not only spared his life, but granted him immortality. To honor Apollo, Theocritis moved to Delphi where he did the god's bidding; striking down Neoptolemus with his arrow, who had come to the temple in Delphi to avenge his father — Achilles, a hero who was said to have been killed by the guidance of Apollo. Theocritus' immortal existence become known throughout Mycenean Greece. For a time, he was regarded as a demigod and the son of Zeus; he was treated as a hero and enlisted in many wars to come by kings. Inside the Oracle of Delphi, the Pythia (priestess of Apollo) prophesied that he was to fight for millennia, and only find peace once his duty to humanity was complete. And so, he fought, slowly numbing to the violence.

Theocritis fought in many wars, and in 479 BCE he aided the Greeks in their victory of the Battle of Platea. The Greco — Persian wars had seen so much loss and Theo had grown bitter of his immortality; despite Apollo's blessing, he could not save all his loved ones and it ached. He used the Battle of Platea to fake his death. In anguish, he gradually destroyed all evidence of Theocritus the demigod. He tore down sculptures, and tarnished works of art that sung his legend, and slowly...his name began to vanish. Theo was still shackled to this earth — but free of expectation. Nevertheless, all he knew was war. He tried to live a normal life away from conflict, but violence continued to find him as he was continually met with heartache and loss. In 336 BCE Theo met the Macedonian king, Alexander the Great. He was enamored with the mortal's military prowess, however was concerned for his hubris — sure that Zeus himself would smite him. Enthralled by Alexander's charisma, Theo was devoted and fought alongside him until his death in 323 BCE. Throughout their years together, he could see the ruler succumbing to madness, gutted as he watched Alexander make plans to conquer Arabia. So. Theocritis, fearful of what he was becoming, poisoned him.

In the 3rd century BCE, he had unwillingly spent many lives as a gladiator. He thrived fighting for a cause, not for the entertainment of others. In Rome, 260 BCE, he had fallen in love with a Roman senator's daughter, and having been discovered having premarital relations, been killed on the spot. The senator was both horrified and fascinated by Theo's regenerative abilities, and presented him to the emperor as a gift. He was then instructed to fight for the emperor with one condition — he must always lose. Once the crowd was satisfied by the fight, Theocritis had to let his opponent strike him down however they pleased. He had once again become a marvel, and this continued until he escaped his chains and fled Rome several years later. Theo fought against the rise of the Roman Empire from 27 BCE to 476 CE, the Mongol Conquests in the 13th century, the American Civil War, the Napoleonic Wars and many in-between. He couldn't slow down, it made him think...filled him with waves of regret. Bloodbaths had become a normalcy or Theocritus, and he couldn't shake it — he didn't want to, until 1909 CE.

There's a big jump here, but could potentially be filled with stuff regarding the other immortals.

In 1909 Theocritus had found a moment of peace in Paris, France. Now choosing to go by Theodore, he had married a French opera singer. He had felt selfish, too anxious to disclose the truth about his life to them out of fear it would shatter this false reality he dreamed of. Their voice brought him some calm in a life full of storms, and for short time, he wanted nothing more than to stay where he was. To his dismay, World War 1 broke out in 1914, and Theo once again found himself in the midst of battle, this time as a French Army Corporal in Field Artillery. After the war ended, he returned home to find that his partner had been killed when the Germans attacked Paris on March 21st, 1918. So this is how it was? Theo fought again in World War 2, bitterly, but at least he had a purpose. Currently, I'm not sure how the immortals are gonna tie in together so imma leave this blank :^)

© pasta

Plutoni · Mar 28, 2021

ego, ultima

gothium.

birthname
vidigoia,
son of volka
aliases
viggo || phaedromus || vadim || jackal || the ostrogoth || ???
Gender
cisgender Male
date of birth || age
~ 410 a.d. || ~ 1640 years old
sexuality
bisexual aromantic
place of birth
sirmium, pannonia
ethnicity
east european
role
the soldier

Appearance
physicality
6'4 | 1.94 m ⸺ 92 kg | 202 lbs

hair
deep chestnut brown, a bronze cast in sunlight. silver at the temples.

eyes
dark hazel-grey.

skin
tan, weathered, finely lined by many lifetimes of wind and sun. he's back to clean-shaven, these days.

distinguishing features
the height and impeccable posture; the huge, uneven-toothed smile; the strange but friendly 'nothing' accent.

body modifications
a broad but almost entirely faded tattoo reading S•P•Q•R LEGIO XIV GEMINA lies across the back of his right hand, impossible to see in all but the closest quarters. both his outer collarbones bear an eight-pointed pinwheel star, their relative novelty making this branding far darker than his first, though their ink is already old enough for the edges to have long begun to blur.

faceclaim
christoph waltz

misc.
Such an open, genial manner can seem like strangely treacherous ground when it belongs to man without a trace of softness to his name. From the dense, whip-hard muscle of his frame to the eyes to even the calluses on his palms, Vidigoia is quick-smiling but seemingly cast in raw iron below, large hands steady as a surgeon's, bearing of capable ease. The ramrod stillness of the posture that holds his exceptional height gives him a nasty little habit of looming. His biological age is somewhat harder to guess. Even he doesn't remember quite how old he would've been when he first died, but to place him around the mid-to-late thirties would likely not be far.

Personality
No number of untold centuries has managed to blunt the teeth in his smile. Vidigoia's wolfish good-humour has seemingly never once flickered since he woke into immortality, becoming, if anything, slightly wilder, slightly more unattached, almost, with each decade past. Time has hardly mellowed him. Nothing seems to shake the hard, perpetual sunshine of his outer disposition, never angry, seldom serious. Careless would be a fitting word. The intense, playful friendliness often strikes a kind of unsettling dissonance when taken beside his breathtaking capacity for violence. Even so - Vidigoia certainly considers himself to be the 'fun uncle' of the group, and it's a role that, considering his surprisingly lax, easy-to-talk-to extroversion, he does well to make believable. He's markedly unafraid of showing familial affection, though to call him protectively so would likely be a step too far.

He has, apparently, taken it upon himself to become the shameless incarnation of the unkind philosophy of 'life isn't fair', and is entirely disinterested in any attempt at making it so; for what it's worth, he's an unhypocritically good loser. He doesn't believe in human nature, or the benevolent hand of a God - he believes in luck, and luck alone. Perhaps he could even be called intolerant of such ideas, and openly so. He doesn't often conceal his thoughts; he's even surprisingly skilled as an orator, if asked, though asking is far from necessary in order for him to make his opinions loudly and plainly known. The truth of them, however, isn't quite as much of a guarantee. His millenium-long thrill-seeking quest for entertainment can make him a touch manipulative, often far more concerned with making something entertaining out of a situation than any moral obligation towards honesty.

[+ more]

virtues
➳ easy-going
➳ self-disciplined
➳ unflinching
➳ patient
➳ light-hearted
➳ astute
➳ forgiving

vices
➳ domineering
➳ ruthless
➳ remorseless
➳ flippant
➳ reckless
➳ unprincipled
➳ indifferent

fears
➳ the existence of a god;
➳ being sealed away, alive, for eternity;
➳ unending, existential boredom;
➳ running out of wine.

aspirations
➳ to be entertained;
➳ to enjoy the world's return to a natural lawlessness more akin to that of his origin;
➳ to remember what it feels like to have ambition.

habits
➳ can occasionally be caught chewing the inside of his cheek when deep in thought.
➳ rarely ever eats a meal at midday, or 'lunch', whatever you want to call it. (what an excessive custom.)
➳ a light, easy sleeper and a chronic early riser. seems to have some innate sixth-sense for waking to catch the dawn.
➳ tends to walk at a mercilessly fast pace, mile-long legs capable of huge, distance-eating strides. complaints will fall on deaf ears - seeing others having to jog to keep up can be rather funny, after all.
➳ sometimes found idly playing with some kind of coin. he's accumulated quite the collection of tricks with them over the centuries.

likes
➳ cold, sunny weather
➳ hot showers
➳ wine
➳ cats
➳ tennis
➳ competition
➳ 80's chart music

dislikes
➳ low ceilings
➳ churches
➳ lingering
➳ gloominess
➳ small chairs
➳ sugary food
➳ chores
history
SON OF VOLKA. 41X A.D.

Vidigoia has long believed that he was born under a shadow of ill fate. Three years the elder of his brother Evoric, he was the firstborn of Volka and Avagisa, a minor prince of a kind to those who knew; Volka, son of Sigeric, was of dilute yet noble Ostrogothic blood, and had retained the chieftainship of their enclave through near this alone - in disgrace and disaster they had fled from the Roman city of Sirmium only two years after his birth, breaking their treaty with the Empire, the foedus, in a bloody yet unsuccessful coup. He was raised amongst the following years of mayhem in a way his younger brother was not, unsheltered from the turmoil of resettling, the loss and violence as they took their clan west to join their people with those of Volka's cousin. Volka wanted to prepare his son as his successor, and in his harsh way he succeeded - Vidigoia grew familiar with the bare, ugly reality of conflict and dishonour from an early age, his future within it heavy upon his shoulders. Too early, perhaps. He resented his father for it, in a way. It was like Evoric, the fortunate son, grew up worlds away.

He was 15 when the Empire finally caught up to them. They were crushed, surrendering their arms long before the battle was out, and the tribe was once again brought under the hand of Rome with far less tolerance than before. He covered Evoric's eyes as their mother fled, as the legionaries bent their father's forehead to the dirt. It wasn't for what he had done that Vidigoia thus came to hate him; that day, he despised his father for his weakness, how he had allowed himself to be so humiliated. When the Senator of the province declared that his son, Vidigoia, would be taken into the empire and naturalised far from his barbarian origins, he went easily - in the end, he was complicit and willing in Volka's punishment. It was his ill fortune that he had been born into this family. To his young mind, only strength now mattered in that world, and that was to be found in the Empire. He would join the winning side. Vae victis, after all.

PHAEDROMUS. 42X A.D.

Vidigoia was thrown into the Legion only a year after he was taken back to Sirmium. His hand was tattooed with a boldness the others lacked, the physical proof of their mistrust, and he was quickly and sneeringly nicknamed as the 'barbarian princeling' amongst the true Roman citizens of his legionary peers. It was a short-lived epithet - it soon became clear that he was an excellent career soldier. He was ambitious, terrifyingly disciplined, uncommonly tall - freakishly so, almost, at the time - and wholly obedient in trading his 'savagery' for that of an entirely more systemic kind. He took the name Phaedromus a year later.

He never returned to his clan out west. He relocated north-east into the legion's base district as he shot through rank after rank, making centurion in his early twenties, but his life outside lacked heart. He took lovers but never settled, drank and partied but never lingered, his seeming obsession with war and victory slowly growing all-consuming, and as his division was sent out into the far west of Europe to strengthen Rome's crumbling frontier, Phaedromus began to lose touch with reality. He had authority enough now to know that, in all likelihoods, it was a suicide mission; things were becoming clear to him now that his fervour of years past had concealed. Even his iron faith in the philosophical law of the jungle was beginning to wear and and fray with the endless, futile carnage that they had waded into - strength was no longer enough in the face of numbers and luck. Always, luck - a change in weather, a moon over a cloud - it made the literal difference between life and death. By now primus pilus, first-spear commander of his own division of auxiliaries, Phaedromus had been so deep in the game for so long without end that he could feel himself begin to fray with it. His men started to sense it over the weeks, though they didn't know quite what, and began to look to him with faint concern. Feared, certainly, but he was liked - a friend to his soldiers in easier days, though utterly ruthless in games of dice - and this strange new tendency beginning to take hold of their commander, tossing a denarius over and over, staring into some unseen middle distance, worried them.

He knew it was the beginning of the end when he was hurriedly made prefect without the seniority of years the post required as the main body of the army began to pull out. As the Gallic frontier fell apart around him, Praefectorus Phaedromus truly began to lose it. He'd finally burnt out. Nothing, not even his Christian upbringing, made sense to him anymore - even he, the perfect soldier, was entirely as at the mercy of luck. Not a god, nothing nearly so fair or rational. Consummate nihilism was seeping into the back of his mind when, upon what he would soon realise to be his final orders, he discovered that his and his mens' luck had entirely run out. It was their death sentence, in a way. The frontier had failed, and they were to be the necessary sacrifice as the rear guard in the indefensible marshes where they had stopped, to protect the other legions as they withdrew. Though his Legate didn't say so in as many words, this was not a battle they were meant to win.

He tossed a coin, though he wasn't sure what for.
Navia aut caput?
Ships or heads?

It came up heads. He's always found that an ironic prophecy, in hindsight, seeing how he would die. Just one of fate's morbid little jokes.

The Gauls came at dusk, snow wet and grey in the gloom. He was the commander to the end - he didn't hide from it, how they sought him out, rightfully knowing to remove the wolf's head from the legion's body. The battle had been lost long before it began. He knew this - maybe some of his men knew it, too - and the numbers he thus took with him in those final throes rose to sickening heights. Maybe he became more animal than man in the end, cornered, near-feral, nothing left to lose; it was no wonder that they wanted to create a quiet, vengeful spectacle of his end. They pushed him to his knees as the battlefield of the marsh fell quiet and smoking, weapon long gone, sword-hand broken, centurion's helmet missing, almost no skin bare of the slick of blood that coated his entirety down to his very teeth. The sword fell, and Phaedromus died laughing.

He doesn't know how long it took for his body to heal. A long time, certainly - heads are no trifling business to replace, after all. He thought it was hell when he finally reawakened. The dark, blurry, sideways view of the marsh came back to him slowly, in shadow but for a faint, bluish-white flame in the near-distance before him. His dazed mind thought he had finally met God. As his vision cleared, the light gradually, slowly shrunk until it became only a marsh wisp. He watched it for a long time, trying to make some sense of his surroundings in the dark of the night, only pushing himself upright once the strange phenomenon finally faded out. His hand was healed, though it still bore the mark of the Empire. It took a long time for him to process the impossibility of his survival, the terrible, unforgivable savagery at his end, and by the end of it, his faith had flickered and died.

By the time he had finished trying - and failing - to prove his survival as some one-time fluke, the dreams of the others that night phased him little. He felt strangely mellow as he woke, surrounded by blood entirely his own; it seemed to him to only be the sign that the life he once lived was closed to him now, and these strangers lined the door of the future. He couldn't return to his legion. It didn't matter what they would ultimately accuse him of - witchcraft, desertion, betrayal - they would put him to death as a precaution, and Vidigoia knew that he did not have the answers nor the solution for when, time after time, his heart would inevitably begin to beat again. Still. It would be many, many long years before he ultimately came to meet another immortal. 'Avoided' would perhaps be too strong of a word - instead, he actively ignored the visions they came to him in, making entirely no attempt to contact or even begin to think how to locate them, no matter how familiar their faces slowly grew to be. He didn't care. He didn't want to know. It didn't matter to him if this came to make him the most unfamiliar and unknown of them all - eternity had suddenly fallen into the palm of his hand. He'd be damned if he wasn't going to take it for a joyride, however many centuries it took.

JACKAL. 4XX A.D.

Vidigoia didn't take a new name for a long while after his death. The possibilities of what to do now were yawningly infinite - to be almost nameless in the face of them felt suitable. Mercenary work, taken up as almost a side-thought in these strange transition years, drifted him south-east. He came across word of Evoric there by blind chance, and to this day he marvels at the improbability; he'd often thought of his kid brother, unknown to any other, throughout his first life. He hadn't seen him, hadn't sent or heard word, and he hadn't been compelled to try - he'd long suspected that the gulf between them had long lain impossibly wide. It was almost as much for his peace as his brother's that he had resolved to leave their memories amongst better times. But the Gothic chief Evoric, son of Volka, now lay dying, and Vidigoia simply couldn't stay away.

It was a strange gut sensation that he felt when he saw his brother on his deathbed. He still can't describe it. The man was still three years his younger yet now in a body outwardly decades older than his own, and by the time he got there, it was one that was soon to fail him. Evoric spoke only his name as he entered, and not a sound more ever passed between them; not a single word was right, or could surpass the grip of his hand and the dying clarity in his eyes as he recognised him with a conviction surer than the turn of the earth, more certain than the rise of the sun. Was he granted forgiveness in that moment? Absolution? Love, even? Vidigoia did not know. Evoric passed not long after. The apothecary pulled him aside for a hushed apology before he eventually left, thanking him for humouring an old man's dying visions, mistaking his face for another, how this Vidigoia had met a grim fate many years ago for the Empire. He knows he saw his young niece and nephew from a distance as he re-saddled his horse in the rain, but he did not greet them. He knew he never could.

That was the one tether that he hadn't realised yet remained. He was now cut loose in his entirety, and the times finally began to reflect it. He resurfaced in the Sassanid Empire, legion tattoo bound and hidden under dark cloth that could pass easily enough as hand-wraps protecting against the wear of a sword's hilt. He was finally free of the politics that raged between the Sassanians and the Byzantine Empire that he would once have been beholden to. Instead, he spent his time stretched out under the sun, playing the Persians' odd style of tabula, or 'backgammon', soon

???. ???? A.D.

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Suspendisse molestie mattis rutrum. Nam cursus quis nisi nec tempor. Integer lectus massa, ultrices quis sapien faucibus, luctus bibendum turpis. Suspendisse euismod iaculis dui, eget mattis nunc aliquet eget. Mauris viverra vitae arcu tristique semper. Proin feugiat a mi quis pharetra. Donec feugiat rutrum sapien, sed placerat ante scelerisque in. Praesent efficitur augue in dolor ornare molestie.

VADIM. 1918 A.D.

The end of the First World War washed up many in strange places, and Vidigoia was no exception. He doesn't entirely recall how he ended up in Russia - his uncanny draw towards turmoil, most likely - but he arrived in Moscow just in time for the nation to implode. The revolutions, the mutinies, the civil war, and he witnessed for himself the bloody birth of the USSR in '22. Perhaps he indulged in a little more than just witnessing. Who could possibly say? But even as the fires began to cool, he found himself staying - along the way, Vidigoia had decided that nobody of that era played cards quite like the Russians.

Such proclivities made it near inevitable that he'd soon find himself amongst the emerging Soviet mafia. He took to the name Vadim as quickly as they took to him. The chaos meant a glorious new age for them - soon, there was no such thing as floating around with your own betting ring without their say-so. It was how they first came across one another; he was little more than a citizen, then, faintly foreign but not distastefully so, tall, intimidating, known amongst the odd circle of revolutionaries, Russian still imperfect but more than compensated for by his exceptional fluency with cards and brisk, necessary violence. It was a near-seamless match. He liked the structure it had, the almost militaristic coordination, and eventually came to occupy an odd kind of 'consultant' role, of sorts, half bookkeeper, half ringleader, and soon a disgustingly wealthy one at that. A good number of his younger associates even came to christen him with the nickname Uncle Vadik.

'Vadim' had never been to prison - labour camp, more precisely - before he finally lost one of his more reckless wagers. He hadn't received a life sentence, however funny the idea was to his immortal self, and served the few months the slipshod justice system had managed to scrounge up on him with gusto. One has to try everything once, after all. He received the eight-pointed star tattoos almost the very day he got out. He had been lukewarm about receiving such an honoured badge of mafia rank, a now unmistakeable member of the upper tier, but he was rather enjoying his time there; he despaired of their drinking habits, of course, the lack of any decent wine outside of imports, but the lifestyle's brutal simplicity felt like a kind of welcome time-out. That wasn't to say there was anything romantic about it - it was one of those rare periods of his life where he wondered, from time to time, what the other immortals saw in their dreams of him, what they thought, whether they woke appalled.

He could smell the storm-front of the second war long before most. By now, the change in weather was growing welcome; he was slowly withdrawing from his underground kingdom, out of sight, out of business, agelessness more apparent by each relentless year. He was getting too comfortable. When the fighting broke out in '39, Vidigoia took the window of conscription's chaos to disappear.

VIGGO. 1950 A.D.

Ah, the USA - he had never once cared to visit until the end of WW2. By then, Vidigoia was actually yearning to try something new. He started dealing in wine almost as a joke with his laundered Soviet money, but success found him far more readily than he had anticipated; soon a licensed vintner and becoming, possibly for the first time, a legitimately wealthy member of society, he realised that he was wholly and entirely unaccustomed to this idea of normal life. His brand allowed him to conduct business with a welcome facelessness, decades now slowed to the pace of honey, no longer imminently concerned with having to pick up and move once the years began to noticeably fail to age him. He picked up tennis - he watched Korea, Vietnam, Cuba, the Cold War and countless other hostilities sail on by from courtside, Sauvignon in hand. He'd even tossed a coin one morning, and the tails it landed on had confirmed his abstinence. This was a new chapter in his life. He'd take a break from his old indulgences. He'd even change his name again in celebration; 'Vadim' sounded far too much like 'red peril' to the civil American society at the time, he decided, so the friendlier 'Viggo' quickly became the nom du jour.
[ by evgenij kungur ]

Relationships
surname, given
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Praesent aliquet volutpat sem, vitae interdum lorem euismod pulvinar. Class aptent taciti sociosqu ad litora torquent per conubia nostra, per inceptos himenaeos.

surname, given
In et interdum enim. Fusce placerat tristique tortor. Nulla laoreet quam dui, eget pharetra justo fermentum vel. In elit neque, mollis eu auctor ut, commodo non orci. Phasellus urna leo, pretium non ante vel, sollicitudin euismod dolor. Orci varius natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Mauris vel arcu tincidunt, sollicitudin libero posuere, luctus nibh. Class aptent taciti sociosqu ad litora torquent per conubia nostra, per inceptos himenaeos.

surname, given
Nam in vestibulum ligula. Proin quis enim ut purus porta malesuada. Sed lectus enim, accumsan ut dignissim ut, elementum vel arcu. Vestibulum finibus, tellus sit amet convallis rutrum, risus nunc suscipit massa, quis bibendum orci massa et nibh. Nulla vel nisl suscipit, vehicula dui sit amet, sodales quam. Aliquam tempor, ex in lobortis convallis, lorem erat gravida justo, semper euismod nibh tellus in mi. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Praesent sed ligula aliquet, viverra libero ut, elementum ipsum.
expertise
strengths
PLAYER. Vidigoia has always had an excellent strategic mind. Centuries of experience and compulsion, addiction, even, has created something of a board-game grandmaster; nowadays, he uses this uncommon talent near exclusively to gamble. The higher the stakes, the better - the thrill-seeking now trumps any innocent pleasure in playing. He's the world's only multi-time champion of Russian Roulette, after all.

IRON-CAST. Immortality undoubtedly comes with its regenerative perks, but he's notably hard-wearing regardless. His threshold for suffering and discomfort is high, able to function better than many on little food, sleep or water and keep a clear head through debilitating pain. His unfortunate familiarity with such situations certainly plays its part.

PRAETORIAN. Enacting violence is a pastime that Vidigoia is intimately acquainted with. Conflict is now of a second nature - his powerful endurance, strength and whiplash reflexes are merely the hallmarks.

CONNOISSEUR. His general dismissal of food and drink as nothing more than functional necessities is granted the sole exception of wine. If he could live on it, he would; countless lifetimes of drinking it from all corners of the earth - though mixing it with opium no longer seems to be quite so fashionable - has granted him the cumulative knowledge and palate any mortal sommelier would kill for. Maybe he's a little smug about it.

weaknesses
THE DRIFT. Despite being immensely capable of it, there's rarely much forward thinking behind his actions anymore, let alone strategy. He seems content to wander, in a way - there isn't any grand scheme deciding his movements, beside gratifying his own whims of the moment. It can make his decision-making irrational and contradictory at best, and alarmingly unpredictable at its worst.

CONTRARIAN. He's entrenched himself in his peace with being, as he says, a 'product of his time'. His odd habits, questionable morality and occasionally brutal tendencies are not things that he would willingly consider relinquishing in order to relieve the discomfort of others, no matter the diplomatic fallout they may cause. He can be breathtakingly inflexible, sometimes.

ROUGH. General life skills, in their most practical sense, are not where he shines. His cooking ability is near primitive, first aid negligible, sewing and repair skills virtually nonexistent. He can construct a basic camp and a fire and put a fitted sheet on a mattress more out of muscle memory than anything, but that's about it - survival and domesticity, even comfort, perhaps, have never really taken much part in his existence.

ABSOLUTE. His little games may be, to some, nonsensical, overtly extreme or simply subject to blatant rigging, but Vidigoia will always follow through on the bet. Perhaps it's admirable, in a strange way, but he will do so in spite of the consequences for both himself and others, no matter how terrible.

combat
You name it, he's probably had a taste of it. Vidigoia has long grown into the philosophy of fun over methodology - he's beholden to no particular style or school or even era of violence, instead possessing an aggressive, irregular, almost theatrically capricious hybrid of the unnumbered fashions that he's played around with over the centuries. It's ruthlessly effective at what it does. Ideas of self-preservation, defence and restraint haven't featured for a long time, simply on accounts of how pointlessly dull he finds it; this near-suicidal recklessness can be both predictable and hard to counter. He spares barely a thought for the clinical efficacy of whatever he does. His victory is practically a given - he merely wants to maximise his fun while doing it. Death is no object.

Hand-to-hand is where he comes into a league of his own. His huge reach, strength and utter lack of inhibition makes for a forbidding and unpredictable opponent. For him, it's the most exciting way of getting his hands dirty - short- to mid-range firearms come in at an enjoyable second place. The relative novelty to him makes them feel almost like a game. Short blades and blunt weapons are next, he's not picky - hell, he could make do with a tin of beans. His freedom from convention has made way for a certain ingenuity in causing harm. The only things he's never generally pulled towards is large weaponry that requires both hands, heavy swords and staves, for example, certainly capable of making good use of them though invariably all the while complaining about how cheerlessly restrictive and formulaic he finds them. Spears could perhaps mark the exception - he thinks they're woefully underrated. Maybe the apocalypse is a chance to bring them back into style.

languages
➳ gothic
➳ latin, vulgar & classical
➳ illyrian & modern albanian
➳ [limited] ancient greek
➳ [limited] gaulish
➳ persian
➳ old turkic & [limited] modern turkish
➳ english
➳ russian
➳ [limited] ukranian
➳ serbo-croatian
➳ french
Extras

Note 01
Sirmium would be located in modern-day northern Serbia.

Note 02
'Viggo' is what he currently tends to introduce himself as. Having never really cared for adopting any of the more modern naming conventions, no surname has ever stuck beyond short-term convenience.

Note 03
Theme TBA :-)

Note 04
[ Evgenij Kungur's ArtStation ]

code by Nano

Epiphany · Mar 28, 2021

BASICS
Role: The Second
Name: Li Chen
Nicknames/aliases: Sun Jia, Wang Baozhai, Chu Hua, Li Hua, Li Mei, Li Ming and many others.
Gender: Female
Age/D.O.B: Around 1800 BCE (making her over 4,000 years old)
P.O.B: Erlitou, China, during the Xia Dynasty (
Race/ethnicity: Chinese
Sexual Orientation: She's functionally Pansexual and Demiromantic, having tried everything and every combination under the sun at some point

VISAGE
Physicality: A mere 5'5" and 136 lbs, she's in peak physical condition...or was, before food scarcity became an issue again. She retains a reflexive economy of motion, born of centuries spent in confining dresses and costuming, and her tendency towards absolute stillness while not on the move can be disconcerting to an eye used to people fidgeting.
Hair: Long, straight, and a brown so dark it's nearly black
Eyes: Dark brown
Skin: Rather fair, though she gets enough sun that she doesn't burn often
Distinguishing features: Model-perfect light complexion
Face claim: Dilraba Dilmurat

PSYCHE
Brief summary: Chen is a focused force of nature. A relentless storm of warfare fixed in a woman's form. Millenia of lives have whittled away most of the minutiae of who she'd been, habits and hobbies falling to the wayside. The past several centuries have seen Chen 'become' the life she lives, up to and including wholly different manners of speech, interests and personality. Only with the end of the world has she fully become herself again.

There's not as much of herself left as she'd thought, though. Chen's become something of an archetype, the role of the Second and General and Physician more than an actual person who simply does those things. People are made up of their relationships and they've all largely run together now, and it doesn't help that the hundreds and thousands of remembered relationships are with people long dead and buried. She's capable of making new relationships, and even enjoying the process, but there's a tendency to mentally map a new relationship to an existing one (because she's been through this so many times), which occasionally leads to confusion on both sides when the other person doesn't behave the way Chen then expects them to.

Positive traits:
Indomitable
Compassionate
Charismatic
Intelligent
Warm

Negative traits:
Socially unfocused
Introverted
Unforgiving
Forgets human frailty
Mixes memories up

Fears:
Not a hell of a lot.
Getting burned alive (done it a dozen times, hurts worse than anything)
Becoming like the First has become.
Getting her heart broken for the millionth time.

Aspirations:
Cure death
End war
Cook the perfect souffle

Habits:
None, exactly. She used to be fond of medicine, homemaking, kids, and crafts of all kinds and was marked by the inability to not be doing something all the time. Over the past few centuries, her 'living in the role' approach to each life left her with wholly different habits (the ER physician twirled hair around a finger, the farmer rubbed a thumb along her beer glass, etc.) which were promptly abandoned when she became the next person. Now that she's Chen and only Chen, she's marked by the absence of habits. When not in motion for a purpose, she's motionless and simply...waits, for something to react to or for the right time to act on her own agenda.

EXPERTISE
Strengths:
Natural Leader - At some point in the distant past, Chen studied leadership and the examples set by emperors, generals and the wealthy. Centuries of experience and practice have concentrated and distilled those lessons into core behaviors. She's capable of compassion and empathy while always having a plan and being able to execute on it. She can be open to suggestions and actually change her mind, while retaining the ability to commit to a course of action. She's led thousands and thousands to prosperity and to death, she's taught tens of thousands of students, to the point that knowing how to inspire and motivate comes naturally now.

Perceptive - After the first million people one meets, everyone else falls into an unconscious internal classification system. Within a few sentences, Chen can generally work out a stranger's basic personality and predict what they'll do next. She'd make (and has made) an amazing psychologist.

Skilled - She's always had a good memory for skills, particularly the tactile. She can throw a pot, demonstrate the forgotten art of the slow stitch and pilot a 1950s Convair Model 23 despite having not been behind the stick in a lifetime. If faces and relationships all blur together, she remains a talented individual. Although modern medicine is the only thing she's actually worked to keep current (ex. she spent a lifetime studying mathematics but moved on from that life in the 1920s and hasn't looked at them since).

Weaknesses:
Unrelatable - The immortal Chen's grown into being is one that increasingly struggles with relating to people. She'd solved it a few centuries ago by basically 'forgetting' her past the way one might tuck a yearbook into the back closet and never looking at it for years. Since the world's ended, though, Chen finds people more difficult than ever. Remembering what motivates mortals, what they're scared of and what they all strive for in common no longer comes naturally and she tends to forget their limitations, particularly in the heat of the moment.

Strategy - She's fought in hundreds and hundreds of wars, and been in ten thousand battles. This makes her think she's better at war than she actually is. The sheer immensity of her military experience make her an effective tactician but she's not a natural at it. Chen can think up and execute on a tactic that she's seen work in the past, while not really understanding why it worked or particularly how modernity might have changed its application. Her brilliance in a fight has often saved her from her mistakes but not from making them in the first place. She's broadly aware of this tendency and is good about delegating strategy and tactics to other immortals, although the weight of ages have made her care a lot less. She's died so many times, she doesn't care if a tactical plan goes as planned or not.

Anachronistic - Chen's done a remarkable job of surviving modernity and the unprecedented rate of change, almost entirely by going method actor and 'becoming' one life or another. But the reality is that thousands of years have left her ill-suited for rapid advancement. Staying current is too much work for the Chen that exists when all roles are gone. Computers are particularly a source of frustration; she was one a formidable hacker in the 1990s and could do nearly anything in C. She made the transition to C+ and C++ but when Java, Python and Rust came out, she ragequit the industry and hasn't touched a computer since.

Combat:
Chen is a consummate warrior, the master of a dozen martial art styles and peerless with the Jian. If you can stab or shoot someone with it, she's probably used it. She spent most of the 20th century avoiding guns, until the catastrophe of 9/11/2001 took place. Her rage at the sheer terror and loss of life involved led her to enlist, where she became proficient in the use of a variety of pistols, rifles, heavy weapon elements as well as a basic ability in driving military vehicles including tanks. About the only thing she never picked up was the art of explosives; she's seen enough to understand the essentials of transport and disarmament but hasn't had time to figure out how to shape charges, wire in timers, etc.

Languages:
Yes. Particularly, Mandarin, English, Arabic, Dutch, French, German, Hindi, Japanese, Malay, Portuguese, Russian, Spanish and Swahili. She also knows a dozen minor languages based on places she's lived. Her native language functionally doesn't exist anymore, though it sounds a bit like ancient Sichuanese.

HISTORY
Chen was born before recorded history, during the Xia Dynasty who is mostly remembered now for their bronze age archeological remnants and being the dynasty conquered by the Shang Dynasty, who were the first to produce written records. In Chen's case, she was born in a village along the Yellow River. She married, bore two children and might have gone on to be a perfectly ordinary mother if food hadn't grown scarce during a drought year. Shang warriors raided her village and she perished when stabbed while trying to save their pigs from being looted. She woke minutes later, confused and unnoticed in all the chaos save for her four year old daughter who didn't understand what had happened to her mother. Chen worked with her husband to salvage what they could before moving with the rest of the survivors towards the capital.

By the time the Xia Dynasty fell, Chen had outlived her husband and let herself be captured by Shang warriors to 'disappear' and silence the whispers of witchery, given she'd lived to her 60s and looked the age of her grandchildren. Pressed into service, she lived a number of lives under the Shangs before becoming an accomplished acupuncturist, bonesetter and practitioner of herbal medicine, able to 'switch lives' with relative ease.

But then she met the First. The exotic woman found her in the middle of a war and promptly pressed a sword into her hands before drawing another and slaughtering half a dozen warriors who'd come to kill the Medicine Woman as Chen had come to be called by then. The two then escaped from the ruins of that life into an extraordinary series of lives to follow.

For an immortal, Chen came late to war but when she arrived it was with a vengeance. She'd carefully tracked her direct lineage, made up of a few survivors from one conflict to another, before they all perished when the Qin Dynasty fell. Chen swore an oath of revenge and proceeded to spend a full century hunting down and slaughtering every single soldier and their descendents. By the end of it, she was heartsick of violence yet incredibly adept with it.

From century to century, she looked to the First for guidance and direction. And as the ages wore her mentor down, they hardened and focused Chen. The other immortals turned up, one by one, rallied by the First who Chen supported in all things.

TBD with everyone else.

By the time the world came to an end, Chen had established a pattern for the modern centuries of adopting a life and 'becoming' it, with her core identity and history becoming something of a second personality, like a wedding dress worn once and kept in the closet for years to come. She was Sun Jia, Rose Bennet, Chen Tseng and many more, living a whole life as an actress, a farmer, an ER physician and scores of other jobs. Chen herself only woke for war. The Napoleonic Wars, the American Civil War, both World Wars as well as the Armenian Genocide, the Cambodian Genocide, the Rwandan Genocide, the Second Sudanese Civil War and the crisis in Syria; all of these conflicts saw Chen disappear from her adopted lives for months or years. She spent that time saving lives or taking them, depending on who she saw as the victim or the aggressor.

When the world ended, so did her last adopted life. For the first time in centuries, Chen is just Chen once more. The several decades of relative isolation due to the absence of people has brought her face to face with herself once more. And she teeters now, on the brink between summoning up the energy to be the fearless leader and crusader she once was or at last letting go and falling into the numb indifference that's claimed the First, casting aside her humanity for the promise of lethe.

Realistic or Modern 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 — (𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌)

bad wolf

do you love my insides? the parts you can’t see?

bad wolf

do you love my insides? the parts you can’t see?

lisbeth

𝑠𝘩𝑒'𝑠 ⠀ 𝙙𝙞𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙩...

logastellus

.

LowkeyLovingLoki

heartbeat on the high line

chamomile

frond-shaped

mikaluvkitties

Professional Unicorn Lover

mxlly

baby got backstories

Plutoni

spin it!

Epiphany

Proverbs 17:9

Users who are viewing this thread

Similar threads