illirica's Test Thread
- Thread starter illirica
- Start date
Silythus Tower, Inc. Test Variant - ver. 1.0
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Good character on this one. Too close to serif?
Legible, too austere? Quotation marks are unfortunate.
Heavy, uninspired.
Silythus needs a photo, this one?
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Testing - "Philosopher"
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Good character on this one. Too close to serif?
Testing = "Space Grotesk"
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Legible, too austere? Quotation marks are unfortunate.
Testing - "Signika Negative"
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Heavy, uninspired.
#FFF536 - #FFF536
#170802 - #170802
#506930 - #506930
#170802 - #170802
#506930 - #506930
Silythus needs a photo, this one?
Silythus Tower, Inc. Test Variant - ver. 2.0
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To Whom It May Concern?
Attn: Mme Anastasia Mikhailov, Mrs. Emily Brownstone?
Silythus Tower, Inc., c/o Hiring Manager?
Thank you for reviewing my application to [position?]. I was pleased to meet [?] with [???] and [???] on [Date?] regarding my employment. I was impressed by the [detail from interview?] at your company and am pleased to accept the position.
Silythus Tower, Inc., c/o Hiring Manager
Thank you for your consideration of my application to your corporation. On review of the acceptance letter graciously provided, I understand that memory loss regarding the application and interview process is expected. I would be interested at some later date to review my candidacy with the hiring team and discover what part of my application most recommended myself to your team, so that I may better focus my skills as an asset to Silythus Tower, Inc.
In the meantime, please find attached the requested information. If there is anything else I can provide, I can be reached at this email address.
With my best regards,
Giselle Hart
Name: Giselle Vivian Hart
Age: 31
Gender: Female
Department Preference: Design
Skills, Professional: Artistic concept design, web design, QA (interfacing and design), font design
Skills, Unprofessional: Fluency (German), Dance (ballet)
Equipment: NA
Licenses and Degrees: Licenses: Photoshop, Illustrator, Procreate. Degree: BA Artistic Design
Biography: I was born in a suburb of New York. My father was a theater director, and my mother was a ballet dancer and an Austrian immigrant. I grew up learning arts and dance, and opted in to a specialized arts academy for middle and high school. My creative passions tend more towards art and design, especially painting. I achieved a collegiate degree in the arts and have been working as a freelance artist for the last decade.
Appearance:
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A Name
Eshe Kanika, Sekhem of the Black Jackals of Anubis
A World
Duat Mechane, a world built on gears and bones. It was once an asteroid, perhaps, or a moon: hollowed out to the core, with the glinting lights of the metal cities lining the walls of the chasm that stretches ever-downward. At the center of it all lies the Resurgence Machine, a long-ago gift of the Ankh'Yulians. The twisted arches of black metal stretch out in every direction, turning the corpses of the dead into the fuel to run itself and the world around it, tainting the slurry of humanity with the barest amounts of once-gifted Soul to turn it into raw energy to power the machines of the world that support the people that die there, giving them the time they need to create more weapons to kill one another, so that they all may return to the Duat in time.
Riddled through its capacious tunnels and up and down the climbing chasms, the Everwar rages. The Resurgence Machine needs fuel, and the people of the world must provide it corpses - one way or another.
A Race
They have sought perfection in the images upon the tombs - tanned skin, black hair, black eyes. They look human, for to look otherwise is of the gods, not the mortals. Yet they are not without change - the people of the world can survive on the barest amounts of oxygen drawn from the thinnest of air. Their inner ears are fine-tuned even in a vacuum, and their bodies think and act easily in three dimensions rather than two.
Their bodies are holy to them, as are those of their enemies. Destructive weapons are anathema, for anything that does not leave a corpse goes against the tenets of the world itself.
A Description
Half a person, half mechanical, Eshe's body is melded with the metal embrace of the Black Jackals, the corpse-gleaners of Duat Mechane. She lives, or half-lives, for a time, in control of herself and her small unit of ghoul-Jackals, those who no longer possess minds of their own, dead bodies in cold metal, moved about by the commands of the still-living commander with them, until the day when she, too, will become one of the mindless and another shall take her place.
If she cares to take off the headpiece or arm-and-leg armor of her mechanical body, Eshe looks much like a human, so much so that some find it quite disturbing. The torso of the mechanical body, however, cannot be removed, for it is grafted on, skin and spine and flesh and all machinations of the interior. To be a Black Jackal is to submit to a quarter-life: half mechanical, and half foreshortened.
An Image
An Excerpt
The straps around her limbs held her taut against the metal slab as the knife descended, parting skin and flesh and baring her organs to the gods and those who followed the gods. Blood drained into channels for the purpose, spilling down off the slab into basins where it would be collected, and the machines in the dim unseen background whirred softly, pumping chilled fluid into her veins.
Eshe watched, her eyes half-open, as the hands reached down and gently lifted the organs from her, one at a time, to be placed in their waiting vessels. First, the ones she would not need - kidneys, liver, the long rope of intestines. Everything was sacred. Everything was saved. They would be distilled of their essence in those jars, crushed into slurry and mixed with the cold viscous synthfluid and the barest whisper of Soul, kept for her and her alone, to power the thing that she was about to become.
The embrace of the mechanical carapace was not one sought by many, but there were enough of them - always enough. Some, for desperation. Some, for fanaticism. Some, for love. The Black Jackals of Anubis, corpse-gleaners of the Everwar, those that braved the fields and the alleys and all the many places where people killed one another, to bring back the dead to the Resurgence Machine and feed its animations.
Once her own essential organ mixture was gone, she would be fed from those same dead, filtered through the Machine - but because it was not of her own, she would lose herself in it, become mindless as they all did, a machine herself for the next Half-Dead to command, as she would command the mechanized corpses of those who had lost themselves before her.
You will struggle to breathe now. Words, from the attendants. Eshe blinked once, for understanding. The suffocating came quickly as her lungs were removed to their jars, the tubes replacing them yet to feel natural. She counted, in her mind, as she had been taught: zero, one, ten, eleven, one hundred... until breath lost meaning and the machine's supply was satisfactory.
Her calm was regained, as it should be, controlled and prepared, the synthetic fluids doing their part to keep her sedated. Consciousness was key to the machine, of course, but the mind must not panic. That was why they had to be willing, all of them. For one reason or another - but yes, willing. Eshe let her gaze travel around the dimness where she knew the jars were waiting, and wondered how long they would last her before she, too, was gone.
If she had any feelings about this matter, they ceased as a hand descended, and tore the heart from her chest.
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Do I look
FAMILIAR
?Name: Sabine Surekis
Age: 23
Nationality: Belgian. Like a waffle.
Dreams: Chasing the thrill. Skirting the edge. If you keep moving fast enough, your real dreams will never catch up with you.
Fears: That one day, someone will talk me into sticking myself in one of those metal coffins.
Virtues: I keep life interesting.
Vices: I... keep life interesting.
Brief History:
I was born. Dead parents club by two and a half, foster care by three. What can I say, I was adorable. It was fine. No sordid backstory, sorry. Did a lot of skiing and stuff growing up. Snowboarding. Parasailing. Basically anything that involved going fast or getting up high or falling down fast. My foster parents kept me busy to keep me off drugs, so I ended up an adrenaline junkie instead.
Got my first flight bike at fifteen and started skirting the war zones. Got a little camera drone so I could pretend I was doing it for the views and not just because it's fun to skirt up to the Splinters. Started learning the names of the Witches in self defense because my followers kept asking about them when they appeared in the vids and "hell, I don't know" wasn't a good enough answer. I guess by this point I've seen as much as a lot of them.
When I was 18, someone came by and popped the question. You know the one - hey, since you seem interested in that stuff anyway, wouldn't you like to be part of the forces defending our world? It'd give me a reason to be out there all the time, they'd even send me where it was going to be the most interesting. I could get even closer - really get involved, be part of the circle rather than just watching from the outside and wondering what it's really like. It would be the life I dreamed of - and yeah, I dreamed of it a lot. That question. You know the answer.
Sweet baby Moses in a basket, no fuckin' way.
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Marissa Smith
Age: 34
Gender: Female
Hair:
......
#a92f00 .... Eyes: ......
#a20909Alias:
Arise
Territory: Memorial City, East Industrial District
Background
Marissa was, undoubtedly, born with her ability. She claims to have always known; felt it like an instinct, known how to use it just like a baby knows how to open their eyes. By her toddler years she was already showing use of it: every minor childhood scrape mended perfectly, within hours. With the ability, of course, came the instincts, the knowledge of others like her, their presences an irritation that she was yet too young to do anything about.
This did not stop her for long. The area where she lived was contested at the time, and the other metahumans squabbling over it had more interest in each other than an infant that they could undoubtedly shove out once their hold was secure. She was four when one of them showed up at her family's apartment to encourage them to find somewhere else to be; four and with four years of pent up impotence and the knowledge that they were out there and she couldn't do anything about it - so when someone presented themselves, it was only natural that she go on the attack.
Being a small child, it did not go particularly well. Being gifted with a potent regenerative ability, Marissa picked herself back up after it was over with, once more unharmed, seething more at the indignity than the injury. Her parents, choosing not to base their decisions on the whims of a child, chose to find a new apartment elsewhere, in a place that their little daughter assured them was comfortable - meaning unoccupied. It had the advantage of being closer to Marissa's uncle, a former ring fighter who was willing to teach her a few things. The fighting, it seemed, was going to be an inevitability, and the best outcome was to teach her to do it properly.
This was not to say the transition was entirely idyllic.
Family Issues
Marissa's mother worked as a psychiatrist, and is unfortunately not uncommon, therefore held to a steadfast belief that there could not be anything wrong with her daughter. Every failing, therefore, was something worthy of blame. Who or what to blame was variable: Marissa may have been showing early signs of autism, but these were buried, deliberately, beneath the blame of the meta-disorder. Her hypersensitivity could be blamed on the presentation of her meta-ability, her difficulty interacting with others could be blamed on the aura-awareness, her combativeness could be blamed on that being how it was for metas. Everything had a reason, and the reason was either the ability disorder or a personal failing on Marissa's part: not trying hard enough, not applying herself enough. Marissa was expected to cope, and while her mother might have taught her a number of valuable coping strategies, the strictness and insinuations that she had better fix herself left her hard, but brittle. The strategies she developed worked up to a point, but could not account for everything. Her relationship with her mother deteriorated, swiftly, paving the way for other influences.
Marissa began spending more and more time away from home, often with her father at work. An animal testing lab for pharmaceutical testing was not necessarily the ideal place for a small child, but Marissa took to the tangential lessons in anatomy and dissection with a zeal that, to some, implied that she could be doing much better in school if she just applied herself.
School remained a struggle. Marissa was a dispassionate learner about many things, and her odd behavior and lack of academic success put her firmly in the category of bully or be bullied. Marissa chose the first as often as the second, though she had no real interest in going after those she perceived as weaker, she was all too interested in fighting the stronger and bigger of her peers. Zero-tolerance policies put her on the path to further academic challenges. The only person who seemed to show any interest in her fighting other than telling her not to do it was her uncle, who trained her to get better at it with brutal efficiency. Incumbent CTBI and a vicious alcoholic streak meant that he tended to focus more on the brutality than the efficiency. Marissa alone remained unbothered by this relationship, her bland statements of injuries sustained during this training a constant source of worry to her parents.
The school systems remained unknowing of what to do with her, and she was requested to move from one school to another on a regular basis. By eighth grade, Marissa had been relegated to alternative schooling, and her mother had refused to deal with the situation any further. Marissa moved in with her uncle, against most advice.
She may not have thrived academically at the time, but the rich grounds for fighting played well to what she considered her strengths, and she was cultivating these rather than education. By this time, it was also well known that she was getting into fights outside the school grounds, with any other metas she could get close enough to given her limited ability to travel, largely based on where she could get her uncle to drive her. Surprisingly, not only did she seem to do well in this environment, but her uncle's condition seemed to improve markedly as well, perhaps due to having somewhere he could consistently direct his violent tendencies, or perhaps just due to having someone who could push back against him.
To no one's surprise, Marissa dropped out of school at sixteen, picking up part time warehouse work that would eventually turn to full time work. She moved out at twenty, when her uncle got married - a decision that would prove fatal, though not for either of them. Bereft of a conveniently regenerating target for his aggressions, her uncle started taking out his violent tendencies on his wife, which would eventually lead to her death a year later, and his subsequent imprisonment.
Marissa still visits him, though his dementia has progressed to the point where he rarely recognizes her any more.
Sensation and Perception
Marissa has heightened senses and sensitivity. It's not entirely certain whether some of these things are based in a meta-ability or whether they're just neurodivergence signifiers. Since she doesn't have a proper diagnoses, it's not likely that anyone will ever know.
Her senses of touch and smell are particularly sensitive, and her hearing is very good as well. She definitely has a lot of tactile issues going on, she can tell a lot just by the feel of something, which can be either a good thing or a bad thing. She's very picky about clothing as a result. The scent-sensitivity is also one of those things that works against her more often than not, she gets really bothered by smoking particularly, as well as strong perfumes. She can identify quite a lot by scent, as long as there's not something else overriding it.
Her hearing sense is both acute and precise, she has both perfect pitch and rhythm. She likes music, even when it's badly played. Knowing that it's off pitch doesn't actually bother her the way some of her other senses do. She tends to find sounds more interesting than overwhelming, but prefers when they're from an outside source. She'd rather be quiet, and listen. Her vision is more trained than extraordinary; she's very good at picking out details and spotting movement but she doesn't have anything super special going on there that wouldn't show up in a professional athlete or anything.
She has a lot of food issues, more with texture than taste. She doesn't like combined food: sandwiches should be deconstructed and eaten one part at a time, things should not be mixed, most sauces are anathema.
Moreover, Marissa seems to have a particularly strong aura perception when it comes to other metahumans, both in that she is more aware of them than many report, at a farther distance, and also that it seems to bother her far more than it often does other metahuman individuals. She guards her territory aggressively, and has been consistently picking fights with other metahumans since her childhood.
Regenerative Ability
Marissa possesses what seems to be, for all purposes, a complete regeneration ability. It is not instantaneous - it is something that needs to be triggered, either by her own will or by sustaining so much damage that her body goes into its regenerative state on its own. While the regeneration itself takes some time to complete - usually around 20-30 minutes - once completed it is a full restoration, including repair or replacement of damaged limbs or organs. It is theorized, and even somewhat tested, that she can shake off anything that doesn't kill her outright within 20 minutes, even from the depths of a comatose state.
The specific segmentation of her ability seems to be as follows:
Initial state: loosening of ligaments and tendons in preparation for regenerative shift. This lasts about 8-10 minutes, and she is capable of movement during this phase, but due to the interior complications she essentially has inflected hypermobility/Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, making it very easy to dislocate joints.
Second stage: muscles change from strength and support to pure elasticity. This is where weakness kicks in, as she loses the ability to move around. Skin and cardiovascular systems also become elastic during this preparatory phase. Due to the inadequacy of the blood systems at this point, anemic reactions may occur especially if low on blood to start with. This phase generally lasts about 2-3 minutes.
Third stage: Strengthening of muscle tissue including heart, increase in soft tissue density and blood present in the system. Repair and recovery of any damaged muscle and soft tissue, regeneration of damaged or absent soft tissue, sealing of external wounds, production of enough blood to recover from anemia. This stage lasts another 3-4 minutes, and after it is complete, she is once again able to function to some degree.
Fourth stage: recovery and regeneration of any damaged or missing organs, as well as recovery and regeneration of brain and neural tissue, ocular tissue, and anything else that may have been missing. Duration may be determined somewhat by amount of damage.
Current Status
Marissa has carved out her territory - in all meanings of the word - in the East Industrial District of Memorial City. Largely composed of factories and warehouses, what housing is available is not of particularly high quality, and the people who have their homes there often tend towards the downtrodden. Gangs are common, gang violence is equally common. Marissa doesn't choose sides, but will often step in to level things out if she feels like things are getting out of hand. This is her place, after all, and she intends for everyone to know it.
Despite all of that, she holds a steady job in one of the manufacturing plants, even having acquired the role of shift supervisor. She doesn't have any aspirations to higher management, preferring to stay on the floor where she's needed. She has a good eye for which machines might be likely to act up, and a tendency to take those stations for herself so that when they do, the inevitable workplace injuries end up being on her rather than on the other employees. Her metahuman ability is an open secret at work: not discussed with management, but those who work the floor with her are all aware of it, plenty of them having witnessed it first hand - particularly because if one of them is doing something unsafe, Marissa will step in and show them why they shouldn't, in the most graphic way imaginable.
She lives alone, if one can call it living. The apartment she claims as her own is a place to sleep, but she spends almost all of her waking hours outside it - looking for trouble, most of the time, and if she can't find any, she'll start some of her own.
She is extremely volatile with respect to the area she deems her own. She doesn't tolerate the presence of other metahumans, and will provoke skirmishes along her borders, either to renegotiate the lines or just to see where everyone stands in terms of strength, and whether she can edge them a little further away from herself.
Despite her dislike of other metahuman presences, though, Marissa is careful - she rarely kills. It's entirely possible that this is less about altruism and more about the fact that if she started killing the competition, she wouldn't have anyone to fight.
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Name: Lydia Santos
Appearance: A blended heritage that can be difficult to place, Lydia's predominant ethnicities are Filipino and Australian Aboriginal, though there are undoubtedly other ethnicities mixed in as well. She has black hair that is more wavy when the air's dry and more curly when it isn't, cut just above the shoulders. Her skin is a warm coffee-and-cream, but how much coffee and how much cream depends quite a lot on how much time she's been spending outdoors lately. Her eyes are dark brown, and unremarkable other than their piercing sharpness.
Her left arm is missing from halfway between the shoulder and elbow, due to having to crash-land her hang-glider in the outback as a teen. The landing went as well as could be expected, with only minimal scrapes, but something bit her while she was out there and by the time she got back to civilization, gangrene had set in enough that the arm had to be amputated. It was, Lydia has remarked, one of the more unpleasant ways to lose a limb.
Equipment: Lydia almost always has a hang glider with her, either carried or strapped across her back, and somehow she can always find enough wind and a high enough space to get airborne. Strangely, when she's in the company of only the others, the hang glider seems to fade into feathered wings, dark brown in plumage and reminiscent of an owl.
The weapon she carries is a mishmash of things - a glaive in the most basic form, but there is always some sort of projectile weapon mounted to it that fires off of the unbladed end. In this era, it's a fairly standard rifle, the sort anyone might carry into the outback. Sometimes this fades out as well, returning to a form that's closer to a cross between a crossbow and a ballista, firing arrow-sized bolts across the battlefield.
Personality: Outgoing and adventurous, with a mind for righteousness and justice. In many eras, she ends up a protestor, a freedom-fighter, or something along those lines. In others, her tendencies towards vengefulness and a streak of jealousy have driven her into zealotry and terrorism.
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.
"Perhaps speech is just a little bit darker?" Not sure about that, it fades into the background a little more than I'd like.
Appearance: A blended heritage that can be difficult to place, Lydia's predominant ethnicities are Filipino and Australian Aboriginal, though there are undoubtedly other ethnicities mixed in as well. She has black hair that is more wavy when the air's dry and more curly when it isn't, cut just above the shoulders. Her skin is a warm coffee-and-cream, but how much coffee and how much cream depends quite a lot on how much time she's been spending outdoors lately. Her eyes are dark brown, and unremarkable other than their piercing sharpness.
Her left arm is missing from halfway between the shoulder and elbow, due to having to crash-land her hang-glider in the outback as a teen. The landing went as well as could be expected, with only minimal scrapes, but something bit her while she was out there and by the time she got back to civilization, gangrene had set in enough that the arm had to be amputated. It was, Lydia has remarked, one of the more unpleasant ways to lose a limb.
Equipment: Lydia almost always has a hang glider with her, either carried or strapped across her back, and somehow she can always find enough wind and a high enough space to get airborne. Strangely, when she's in the company of only the others, the hang glider seems to fade into feathered wings, dark brown in plumage and reminiscent of an owl.
The weapon she carries is a mishmash of things - a glaive in the most basic form, but there is always some sort of projectile weapon mounted to it that fires off of the unbladed end. In this era, it's a fairly standard rifle, the sort anyone might carry into the outback. Sometimes this fades out as well, returning to a form that's closer to a cross between a crossbow and a ballista, firing arrow-sized bolts across the battlefield.
Personality: Outgoing and adventurous, with a mind for righteousness and justice. In many eras, she ends up a protestor, a freedom-fighter, or something along those lines. In others, her tendencies towards vengefulness and a streak of jealousy have driven her into zealotry and terrorism.
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"Perhaps speech is just a little bit darker?" Not sure about that, it fades into the background a little more than I'd like.
Lydia Santos
Custom Title
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Common Name: Visca Tan'Mistel
Species: Dryad
Age: 37
As Dryads tend to be a long-lived species, this is probably the equivalent of a 16-year-old human. The appellation tan, meaning twig, signifies that Visca is not yet considered to be of adult age.
Gender: Female
As observed by the white berries nestled among the leaves growing from her skin and hair; males of the Viscum album genus produce only flowers, no fruit.
Class Expectation:Rogue Paladin
Visca's family agreed to her enrollment as a rogue. They are unaware of the major change. She would prefer to keep it that way, as they are, largely, the reason for it. Since her deity is a trickster, he's all for the deception.
Family:
The Mistel Family is derived from Viscum album, commonly known as the mistletoe plant. A hemiparasitic species, most of the family functions as social hangers-on, generally attaching themselves to other, more powerful individuals, and using them for resources - occasionally to the point of bleeding them dry. This has not been known to make the family particularly popular with other dryads, but they have seen to it through the generations that they are also extremely hard to get rid of.
Background:
The Mistel family is always looking for new ways to wedge themselves deeper into society, as well as ways to make sure that once established, they aren't easy to remove from a position. In looking to forge a weapon of sorts that would enable them to cement their hold wherever they liked, the family turned to one of its youngest scions: Visca, then aged fifteen.
By a combination of the arcane arts and magitek forging techniques, they took her plant and attached it to a chunk of metal - and then forged it in, one seared and folded branch at a time, beating vine and steel together until they were intrinsically linked, and then forging it into a sword, quenched in the flesh of the bound child to cause her to go dormant within the blade in order to recover.
Twenty years passed.
Upon reawakening, having lost much of her childhood and almost all of her faith in her family, Visca found herself a new faith. Pledged to the Trickster God Loki, she feels she has a calling to trick her family out of whatever benefits they've managed to arrange for themselves - and ensure that they don't have the resources to try what they did with her ever again.
She will, however, need more than the skills she has and the blade that holds her. For that, she needs Involerra.
The Mistel-Tān Blade
A short-sword, slender-bladed, with a branch-guard at the grip. Forged under auspicious means, it possesses a certain set of abilities, either of its own or leeched from its rooted Dryad.
Poison: Innate; as mistletoe is quite toxic, the Mistel-Tān has the capacity to poison those cut by the blade.
Cure Poison: Learned, Paladin; a trick of undoing.
Sap: Innate; like the parasitic mistletoe plant, the Dryad-within leeches vitality from that which has been impaled. Currently, this only works on other Dryads, though it's possible she could learn otherwise at school, if she were so inclined.
As Visca is bound to the blade, she can go into it at will.
This is not, generally speaking, something she has any desire to do. Spending twenty years in a magic sword generally puts a person off the idea.
As the blade is bound to Visca, it cannot be wielded by anyone else.
At least, not while she wills it otherwise. She's fairly certain she was never supposed to have the will to defy her family. This is somewhat a sticking point.
As Visca is bound to the blade in the way any Dryad is bound to their plant of origin, she will die if it is destroyed.
School ID photo:
(Delfi's drawing me a real one, until then you get this)
Species: Dryad
Age: 37
As Dryads tend to be a long-lived species, this is probably the equivalent of a 16-year-old human. The appellation tan, meaning twig, signifies that Visca is not yet considered to be of adult age.
Gender: Female
As observed by the white berries nestled among the leaves growing from her skin and hair; males of the Viscum album genus produce only flowers, no fruit.
Class Expectation:
Visca's family agreed to her enrollment as a rogue. They are unaware of the major change. She would prefer to keep it that way, as they are, largely, the reason for it. Since her deity is a trickster, he's all for the deception.
Family:
The Mistel Family is derived from Viscum album, commonly known as the mistletoe plant. A hemiparasitic species, most of the family functions as social hangers-on, generally attaching themselves to other, more powerful individuals, and using them for resources - occasionally to the point of bleeding them dry. This has not been known to make the family particularly popular with other dryads, but they have seen to it through the generations that they are also extremely hard to get rid of.
Background:
The Mistel family is always looking for new ways to wedge themselves deeper into society, as well as ways to make sure that once established, they aren't easy to remove from a position. In looking to forge a weapon of sorts that would enable them to cement their hold wherever they liked, the family turned to one of its youngest scions: Visca, then aged fifteen.
By a combination of the arcane arts and magitek forging techniques, they took her plant and attached it to a chunk of metal - and then forged it in, one seared and folded branch at a time, beating vine and steel together until they were intrinsically linked, and then forging it into a sword, quenched in the flesh of the bound child to cause her to go dormant within the blade in order to recover.
Twenty years passed.
Upon reawakening, having lost much of her childhood and almost all of her faith in her family, Visca found herself a new faith. Pledged to the Trickster God Loki, she feels she has a calling to trick her family out of whatever benefits they've managed to arrange for themselves - and ensure that they don't have the resources to try what they did with her ever again.
She will, however, need more than the skills she has and the blade that holds her. For that, she needs Involerra.
The Mistel-Tān Blade
A short-sword, slender-bladed, with a branch-guard at the grip. Forged under auspicious means, it possesses a certain set of abilities, either of its own or leeched from its rooted Dryad.
Poison: Innate; as mistletoe is quite toxic, the Mistel-Tān has the capacity to poison those cut by the blade.
Cure Poison: Learned, Paladin; a trick of undoing.
Sap: Innate; like the parasitic mistletoe plant, the Dryad-within leeches vitality from that which has been impaled. Currently, this only works on other Dryads, though it's possible she could learn otherwise at school, if she were so inclined.
As Visca is bound to the blade, she can go into it at will.
This is not, generally speaking, something she has any desire to do. Spending twenty years in a magic sword generally puts a person off the idea.
As the blade is bound to Visca, it cannot be wielded by anyone else.
At least, not while she wills it otherwise. She's fairly certain she was never supposed to have the will to defy her family. This is somewhat a sticking point.
As Visca is bound to the blade in the way any Dryad is bound to their plant of origin, she will die if it is destroyed.
School ID photo:
(Delfi's drawing me a real one, until then you get this)
Last edited:
Common Name: Visca Tan'Mistel
Species: Dryad
Age: 37
As Dryads tend to be a long-lived species, this is probably the equivalent of a 16-year-old human. The appellation tan, meaning twig, signifies that Visca is not yet considered to be of adult age.
Gender: Female
As observed by the white berries nestled among the leaves growing from her skin and hair; males of the Viscum album genus produce only flowers, no fruit.
Class Expectation:Rogue Paladin
Visca's family agreed to her enrollment as a rogue. They are unaware of the major change. She would prefer to keep it that way, as they are, largely, the reason for it. Since her deity is a trickster, he's all for the deception.
Family:
The Mistel Family is derived from Viscum album, commonly known as the mistletoe plant. A hemiparasitic species, most of the family functions as social hangers-on, generally attaching themselves to other, more powerful individuals, and using them for resources - occasionally to the point of bleeding them dry. This has not been known to make the family particularly popular with other dryads, but they have seen to it through the generations that they are also extremely hard to get rid of.
Background:
The Mistel family is always looking for new ways to wedge themselves deeper into society, as well as ways to make sure that once established, they aren't easy to remove from a position. In looking to forge a weapon of sorts that would enable them to cement their hold wherever they liked, the family turned to one of its youngest scions: Visca, then aged fifteen.
By a combination of the arcane arts and magitek forging techniques, they took her plant and attached it to a chunk of metal - and then forged it in, one seared and folded branch at a time, beating vine and steel together until they were intrinsically linked, and then forging it into a sword, quenched in the flesh of the bound child to cause her to go dormant within the blade in order to recover.
Twenty years passed.
Upon reawakening, having lost much of her childhood and almost all of her faith in her family, Visca found herself a new faith. Pledged to the Trickster God Loki, she feels she has a calling to trick her family out of whatever benefits they've managed to arrange for themselves - and ensure that they don't have the resources to try what they did with her ever again.
She will, however, need more than the skills she has and the blade that holds her. For that, she needs Involerra.
The Mistel-Tān Blade
A short-sword, slender-bladed, with a branch-guard at the grip. Forged under auspicious means, it possesses a certain set of abilities, either of its own or leeched from its rooted Dryad.
Poison: Innate; as mistletoe is quite toxic, the Mistel-Tān has the capacity to poison those cut by the blade.
Cure Poison: Learned, Paladin; a trick of undoing.
Sap: Innate; like the parasitic mistletoe plant, the Dryad-within leeches vitality from that which has been impaled. Currently, this only works on other Dryads, though it's possible she could learn otherwise at school, if she were so inclined.
As Visca is bound to the blade, she can go into it at will.
This is not, generally speaking, something she has any desire to do. Spending twenty years in a magic sword generally puts a person off the idea.
As the blade is bound to Visca, it cannot be wielded by anyone else.
At least, not while she wills it otherwise. She's fairly certain she was never supposed to have the will to defy her family. This is somewhat a sticking point.
As Visca is bound to the blade in the way any Dryad is bound to their plant of origin, she will die if it is destroyed.
School ID Photo:
Species: Dryad
Age: 37
As Dryads tend to be a long-lived species, this is probably the equivalent of a 16-year-old human. The appellation tan, meaning twig, signifies that Visca is not yet considered to be of adult age.
Gender: Female
As observed by the white berries nestled among the leaves growing from her skin and hair; males of the Viscum album genus produce only flowers, no fruit.
Class Expectation:
Visca's family agreed to her enrollment as a rogue. They are unaware of the major change. She would prefer to keep it that way, as they are, largely, the reason for it. Since her deity is a trickster, he's all for the deception.
Family:
The Mistel Family is derived from Viscum album, commonly known as the mistletoe plant. A hemiparasitic species, most of the family functions as social hangers-on, generally attaching themselves to other, more powerful individuals, and using them for resources - occasionally to the point of bleeding them dry. This has not been known to make the family particularly popular with other dryads, but they have seen to it through the generations that they are also extremely hard to get rid of.
Background:
The Mistel family is always looking for new ways to wedge themselves deeper into society, as well as ways to make sure that once established, they aren't easy to remove from a position. In looking to forge a weapon of sorts that would enable them to cement their hold wherever they liked, the family turned to one of its youngest scions: Visca, then aged fifteen.
By a combination of the arcane arts and magitek forging techniques, they took her plant and attached it to a chunk of metal - and then forged it in, one seared and folded branch at a time, beating vine and steel together until they were intrinsically linked, and then forging it into a sword, quenched in the flesh of the bound child to cause her to go dormant within the blade in order to recover.
Twenty years passed.
Upon reawakening, having lost much of her childhood and almost all of her faith in her family, Visca found herself a new faith. Pledged to the Trickster God Loki, she feels she has a calling to trick her family out of whatever benefits they've managed to arrange for themselves - and ensure that they don't have the resources to try what they did with her ever again.
She will, however, need more than the skills she has and the blade that holds her. For that, she needs Involerra.
The Mistel-Tān Blade
A short-sword, slender-bladed, with a branch-guard at the grip. Forged under auspicious means, it possesses a certain set of abilities, either of its own or leeched from its rooted Dryad.
Poison: Innate; as mistletoe is quite toxic, the Mistel-Tān has the capacity to poison those cut by the blade.
Cure Poison: Learned, Paladin; a trick of undoing.
Sap: Innate; like the parasitic mistletoe plant, the Dryad-within leeches vitality from that which has been impaled. Currently, this only works on other Dryads, though it's possible she could learn otherwise at school, if she were so inclined.
As Visca is bound to the blade, she can go into it at will.
This is not, generally speaking, something she has any desire to do. Spending twenty years in a magic sword generally puts a person off the idea.
As the blade is bound to Visca, it cannot be wielded by anyone else.
At least, not while she wills it otherwise. She's fairly certain she was never supposed to have the will to defy her family. This is somewhat a sticking point.
As Visca is bound to the blade in the way any Dryad is bound to their plant of origin, she will die if it is destroyed.
School ID Photo:
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