Post by spookii on Oct 10, 2009 14:25:49 GMT -6
Named
Amelia-Nadeah Dimah Dastravanoff, Daughter of the Demon-Witch Briganta
Age
Thirteen-thousand, nine-hundred-and-seventy-three
Gender
Female
Race
Vampire
Hails From
Born in a small hut west of a village in an unknown part of the world, Amelia did not have much of a life until her first death. Her mother, the village hermit was shunned by society as a demon-witch because of her unusual Necromancy practices. Upon her mother's death at the tender age of thirteen, she was adopted by a woman whose husband had passed away and was left with a rather large estate to care for. There, Amelia adapted the name that she keeps until this very day. Amelia lived with the woman for many years, although the estate was not near any village or town and was not under the protection of any Lord.
After her first death, she was taken to Castle Faratu for the first four hundred years of her second life. As time moved on and she began to grow weary of her home, she strayed farther and farther from the stone confines of her crypt-like home.
Today, Amelia makes her home in the underworld labyrinth-like sewers of the great magickal city of Temarra.
Ranking
Ancient
Weapons
Usually, Amelia has little use for weapons on her "outings". The slender, sharp claws that protrude from her fingers are a perfect companion to the fangs that her kind are most feared for. Twice she has had her fangs ripped from her, and twice she has had to turn to steel to rip open the flesh of the living to merely stay alive. These blades were here for her at a time in which she was desperate, and so she keeps them even if they have little use to her for the most part. Two slender, long daggers fashioned out of black steel and wrapped with thick leather for grip were her constant companions. Most would consider them too large to be daggers, as they are easily the length of a woman's arm. However, Amelia wields two effortlessly and is skilled in their use.
Abilities
Amelia has never studied the magickal arts in-depth. Over the years, she obviously has run into several opportunities where she was able to pick up certain knowledge on the arcane arts. Her work as an assassin, coupled with this minimal knowledge in the arts, has led her to perfect the art of persuasion.
Occupational Status
A common job has little use for Amelia. She is a vampire and most anyone would recognize that as soon as they laid eyes on her. Early on in her second-life, Amelia found that her forte lay in the simple world of thievery. At first, she would steal small jewels and trinkets to sell to merchants. But slowly her appetite began to grow as greed sunk into her soul. She began to target bigger prey, which also called for more drastic measures when it came to the execution of her plan. Eventually, she became a free-lance assassin who stole and murdered for profit. Rarely does she take a job from a stranger. Her targets are hand-chosen by only one person: Amelia herself.
Appearance
If you saw her in person, one word could sum her up: Extravagant. Amelia cuts no corners when it comes to dressing herself up for the common eye. She has an extraordinary wardrobe of elegant dresses that were "donated" by her unwilling victims over the years from all corners of the world. Her work clothes change from job to job, as she may have to fit into a particular scene which could call for any number of costume choices.
Her dark, curly hair is never worn the same way twice and she often spends hours toying with new baubles in her locks that she picks up from various kills.
Except for one scar on her back that extends from her left shoulder blade all the way down to the curve of her back, her pale skin is flawless and drawn tightly over the curvature of her bones. Although she does resemble that which she is, a walking corpse, she still holds a certain elegance and luminosity.
Personality
How would you behave if for thousands of years, you were shunned for one reason or another? Born into a life of a hermit, raised in a household of perfection, and murdered in a coven of secrets. Amelia tends to keep to herself. She has accumulated a small sect of followers, merely beggars who pledged their allegiance. Her friends are none, her allies are few, and her enemies are many.
However, that does not mean that she is a shy thing. Amelia has no problem with showing a charming side, something that she has learned is a must-do in this world if she planned on getting anywhere. People did not appreciate secrecy, so telling lies and showing a facade was one of her most coveted tactics.
She is not cruel, but she is by no means merciful. She simply does what she must to meet her own agenda for whatever reason it is. Amelia has found solace in herself and pleasing herself is all that she cares for anymore.
History
Screams. Anger. Stones being thrown at the wooden door as it closed shut. Briganta held her daughter to her bosom, hissing as she tried desperately to shut the door to the small hut that she called home. Her tormentors had come again with torches and chains, threatening to burn her as the black witch that she was.
Quickly, Briganta scuttled to the corner of her hut and settled her sleeping babe in a basket safely. Her eyes were narrowed harshly and she turned on the heel of her foot towards the door again. With a crash, she tore the door open and strode outside with her hand extended towards the small crowd of villagers.
"Leave me and my child, lest you wish for famine and danger upon your homes. Leave I say! Or I will call the fiends of the hellish realms upon your children as they sleep!"
Briganta shouted the words to the villagers who had quietened, listening to her words. Fear struck into their eyes. They feared her for a reason. It was no secret that Briganta of the Stone Shore was a witch. She dabbled in ancient, forbidden magicks. Most of the time she practiced the white side of the magickal realm to help heal the weary and the weak. However, as of late, she had been forced to investigate the darker arts to protect her child from this onslaught of discrimination. She had been cast out of the village after her bastard child was born, as the village folk swore it was the devil's child.
The villagers were standing there, bewildered at her threat. They did not question her power, they were afraid to be hopeful that she was only boasting the extent of her knowledge but they feared being proven wrong. After a few moments, a handful of villagers began to trickle away from the small hut as Briganta stood there as still as a stone statue with her hand extended and her brow drawn.
The villagers left. And Briganta was left there with her unnamed daughter. For ten years, they were happy and alone. For ten years, a daughter had a mother. But no more than ten years did that last.
"Amelia!", the sound of a woman's voice echoed through the stone corridor. Amelia was running down the hall as fast as her bare feet could carry her. Mother Gyala would surely strike her if she was any later than she already was.
"I'm on my way!" she shouted to the maid who had been shouting her name from the kitchens. Amelia was 17 and this was to be her first measuring for a lady's dress. She skid across the marble floor of the entrance and scurried past the kitchen's open door towards the parlor. Before reaching the open door, she stopped and straightened the plain dress that she wore while tucking away a couple of stray, black curls behind her ear. Perfect? Yes. Perfect.
Slowly, Amelia steadied herself and walked briskly into the room with her hands folded neatly at her mid-section. She looked at her godmother, whom she called Mother Gayla and a rather rigid woman sitting opposite her. The woman carried a black bag and a basket full of different fabrics.
"Ah, here she is. Amelia, darling. Come stand."
Mother Gayla motioned towards the space next to the woman with the black bag. The woman peered down her nose at Amelia, a slight look of distaste on her lips. She eyed her from toe to head swiftly before reaching down into the bag and extracting a long tape.
"This will take some time..", the woman grumbled. Her voice was cracked and Amelia noticed that her eyes seemed shallow and soulless. Something about that woman...
Amelia-Nadeah Dimah Dastravanoff, Daughter of the Demon-Witch Briganta
Age
Thirteen-thousand, nine-hundred-and-seventy-three
Gender
Female
Race
Vampire
Hails From
Born in a small hut west of a village in an unknown part of the world, Amelia did not have much of a life until her first death. Her mother, the village hermit was shunned by society as a demon-witch because of her unusual Necromancy practices. Upon her mother's death at the tender age of thirteen, she was adopted by a woman whose husband had passed away and was left with a rather large estate to care for. There, Amelia adapted the name that she keeps until this very day. Amelia lived with the woman for many years, although the estate was not near any village or town and was not under the protection of any Lord.
After her first death, she was taken to Castle Faratu for the first four hundred years of her second life. As time moved on and she began to grow weary of her home, she strayed farther and farther from the stone confines of her crypt-like home.
Today, Amelia makes her home in the underworld labyrinth-like sewers of the great magickal city of Temarra.
Ranking
Ancient
Weapons
Usually, Amelia has little use for weapons on her "outings". The slender, sharp claws that protrude from her fingers are a perfect companion to the fangs that her kind are most feared for. Twice she has had her fangs ripped from her, and twice she has had to turn to steel to rip open the flesh of the living to merely stay alive. These blades were here for her at a time in which she was desperate, and so she keeps them even if they have little use to her for the most part. Two slender, long daggers fashioned out of black steel and wrapped with thick leather for grip were her constant companions. Most would consider them too large to be daggers, as they are easily the length of a woman's arm. However, Amelia wields two effortlessly and is skilled in their use.
Abilities
Amelia has never studied the magickal arts in-depth. Over the years, she obviously has run into several opportunities where she was able to pick up certain knowledge on the arcane arts. Her work as an assassin, coupled with this minimal knowledge in the arts, has led her to perfect the art of persuasion.
Occupational Status
A common job has little use for Amelia. She is a vampire and most anyone would recognize that as soon as they laid eyes on her. Early on in her second-life, Amelia found that her forte lay in the simple world of thievery. At first, she would steal small jewels and trinkets to sell to merchants. But slowly her appetite began to grow as greed sunk into her soul. She began to target bigger prey, which also called for more drastic measures when it came to the execution of her plan. Eventually, she became a free-lance assassin who stole and murdered for profit. Rarely does she take a job from a stranger. Her targets are hand-chosen by only one person: Amelia herself.
Appearance
If you saw her in person, one word could sum her up: Extravagant. Amelia cuts no corners when it comes to dressing herself up for the common eye. She has an extraordinary wardrobe of elegant dresses that were "donated" by her unwilling victims over the years from all corners of the world. Her work clothes change from job to job, as she may have to fit into a particular scene which could call for any number of costume choices.
Her dark, curly hair is never worn the same way twice and she often spends hours toying with new baubles in her locks that she picks up from various kills.
Except for one scar on her back that extends from her left shoulder blade all the way down to the curve of her back, her pale skin is flawless and drawn tightly over the curvature of her bones. Although she does resemble that which she is, a walking corpse, she still holds a certain elegance and luminosity.
Personality
How would you behave if for thousands of years, you were shunned for one reason or another? Born into a life of a hermit, raised in a household of perfection, and murdered in a coven of secrets. Amelia tends to keep to herself. She has accumulated a small sect of followers, merely beggars who pledged their allegiance. Her friends are none, her allies are few, and her enemies are many.
However, that does not mean that she is a shy thing. Amelia has no problem with showing a charming side, something that she has learned is a must-do in this world if she planned on getting anywhere. People did not appreciate secrecy, so telling lies and showing a facade was one of her most coveted tactics.
She is not cruel, but she is by no means merciful. She simply does what she must to meet her own agenda for whatever reason it is. Amelia has found solace in herself and pleasing herself is all that she cares for anymore.
History
Screams. Anger. Stones being thrown at the wooden door as it closed shut. Briganta held her daughter to her bosom, hissing as she tried desperately to shut the door to the small hut that she called home. Her tormentors had come again with torches and chains, threatening to burn her as the black witch that she was.
Quickly, Briganta scuttled to the corner of her hut and settled her sleeping babe in a basket safely. Her eyes were narrowed harshly and she turned on the heel of her foot towards the door again. With a crash, she tore the door open and strode outside with her hand extended towards the small crowd of villagers.
"Leave me and my child, lest you wish for famine and danger upon your homes. Leave I say! Or I will call the fiends of the hellish realms upon your children as they sleep!"
Briganta shouted the words to the villagers who had quietened, listening to her words. Fear struck into their eyes. They feared her for a reason. It was no secret that Briganta of the Stone Shore was a witch. She dabbled in ancient, forbidden magicks. Most of the time she practiced the white side of the magickal realm to help heal the weary and the weak. However, as of late, she had been forced to investigate the darker arts to protect her child from this onslaught of discrimination. She had been cast out of the village after her bastard child was born, as the village folk swore it was the devil's child.
The villagers were standing there, bewildered at her threat. They did not question her power, they were afraid to be hopeful that she was only boasting the extent of her knowledge but they feared being proven wrong. After a few moments, a handful of villagers began to trickle away from the small hut as Briganta stood there as still as a stone statue with her hand extended and her brow drawn.
The villagers left. And Briganta was left there with her unnamed daughter. For ten years, they were happy and alone. For ten years, a daughter had a mother. But no more than ten years did that last.
"Amelia!", the sound of a woman's voice echoed through the stone corridor. Amelia was running down the hall as fast as her bare feet could carry her. Mother Gyala would surely strike her if she was any later than she already was.
"I'm on my way!" she shouted to the maid who had been shouting her name from the kitchens. Amelia was 17 and this was to be her first measuring for a lady's dress. She skid across the marble floor of the entrance and scurried past the kitchen's open door towards the parlor. Before reaching the open door, she stopped and straightened the plain dress that she wore while tucking away a couple of stray, black curls behind her ear. Perfect? Yes. Perfect.
Slowly, Amelia steadied herself and walked briskly into the room with her hands folded neatly at her mid-section. She looked at her godmother, whom she called Mother Gayla and a rather rigid woman sitting opposite her. The woman carried a black bag and a basket full of different fabrics.
"Ah, here she is. Amelia, darling. Come stand."
Mother Gayla motioned towards the space next to the woman with the black bag. The woman peered down her nose at Amelia, a slight look of distaste on her lips. She eyed her from toe to head swiftly before reaching down into the bag and extracting a long tape.
"This will take some time..", the woman grumbled. Her voice was cracked and Amelia noticed that her eyes seemed shallow and soulless. Something about that woman...