Mescaffier

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮 "Death doesn't discriminate between the Sinners and the Saints - it takes and it takes and it takes . . . And ve keep loving anyway, ve laugh and ve cry and ve break, and ve make our mistakes. And if there's a reason yam still alive, vhen everyone who loves me has died, yam willing to wait for it." Viathan Aleksandr Othaman Born on the 1st of Horen's Calling, 1795 Title(s) Heir to the County of Valles, Heir to the Viscounty of Valles Heritage Son of Lord Sergei Othaman & Lady-Dowager Elizabeth Winter Allegiance The Holy Orenian Empire & the Imperial State Army Physical Description: Race Highlander Gender Male Build Ectomorph (Thin) Height 6'0" (182 cm) Weight 159 lbs Hair Color Viathan has oily black hair typically trimmed down to his mid-neck, or held up in a bun. Eye Color Viathan has small, almond-shaped eyes with brown irises. Skin Tone Unusually dark, tanned from hours in the sun. Face Shape Rectangular Scars A long, ragged mark from his lip to his right brow; that he claims was from a 'bear', but really from falling out of a tree (See: The first skirmish between the Holy Orenian Empire and the Rustlers, 1826, in Vortice). Clothing Typically, Viathan dons plated armor and kilts; if not that, more feminine garb like strands of silk and velvet drapes. Dominant Hand Ambidextrous Traits ● Compassionate ● Optimistic ● Emotional ● Sentimental ● Childish ● Complacent Haenseni Zodiac The Moon Zodiac Capricorn Likes ● His wife ● Foggy / Stormy weather ● Researching other Creeds (Malinism, Azdromothinian, et Cetera) ● Cats ● Leather-working & Wood-working ● Tailoring ● Birds, especially Chickens. They're neat. ● Odd trinkets ● Knitting ● Obscure information Dislikes ● Unkempt beards, facial hair ● Fire ● Snobs ● Silk. It's uncomfortable! ● Dogs. ● Galas & Balls; crowds in general ● Conversation Personality Viathan is a child-minded man with simple dreams and desires. He tends to be over-protective of his family and sentimental of childhood memories; often caught in the past, rather than the present. Because of this, he still tends to act immature and brash, generally speaking first and thinking later. Personal Alignment Neutral Good Political Alignment Centralist Party / Anti-Politics altogether Strength(s) Loyal, attentive, & optimistic Weakness(es) Childish, overly-complacent, and immature Religion Canonism Sexuality . . . Martial Status Mary Othaman nee Carrington Current Residence The County of Valles, The Holy Orenian Empire Other Information Mother Elizabeth Azareal Othaman nee Winter Father Sergei Erik Othaman ✞ Grandmother Natalya Eliza Devereux ✞ Grandfather Erik Othaman Language(s) Common, Old Raev 'Stats' Strength 17 Dexterity 15 Intellect 15 Stamina 8 Constitution 13 Charisma 9

wait people over the age of 15 exist? you guys are real?

'Dame' Viktoriya I slowly rose from the stone undercroft she'd dozed away in for how many woebegone months, lichen and sodden strands of moss giving way as that old bat rose like some herald of undeath. Yet, she was just as lively - and grumpy, and vexing as ever before. "Is someone making jabs at . . . The Helena de Sarkozy? She vas such a nice girl." Clank, clank. That behemoth husked in iron plate began to move toward the entrance of the estate; up stairs, past a few eight thrones, and over mountains toward the border. A patrol clad in red passed on horseback; she waited, and then waded through the reeds and to the next town. " . . . I need to catch up with Tobias' dear family, don't I, mein deukcendanav?" The lanky suit of armor beside her warbled something and continued on with their prowl, as did she.

Some cloaked giantess glanced through shuttered windows in some slowly crumbling building, as protests struck the capital and news spread on the Orenian's new . . . Rather, rediscovered Anti-Adunian sentiments. "First it vas the Highlanders, and now the Adunian - next the Farfolk. They're purging every kind o' 'folk til' it's just them righteous Heartlanders." A few crowded in behind her as they fled the city - of course, she was still banished. The sound of steel against stone shuttered the silence as they broke into a sprint along the roads, cloaked by night. "Justice has been forsaken." "They ought te' be put in t'eir place."

What is your name? Dame Viktoriya, though my birthname is 'Veseria' Why do you seek membership into the Mage's Guild? I hope to expand my knowledge on the void and its contents; rather, lackthereof and learn about its practices. It's a goal of mine to master one, as I'd tried in the past. What arts, if any, do you currently practice? In the past, I was learning Domestic Housemagery and Voidal Illusion; though I never got far on either past an introduction to the void, and later forgot its contents because of some injury . . . Dropped on my head a bit too much. Now, I practice alchemy. What position do you desire to attain upon acceptance? Practicus When should you be contacted for an interview? Whenever suits the interviewer best. I am free most of my days.

Dame Viktoriya I chuckles.

The Bygone Lord descended onto a great, prismarine throne with a chortle; the seven others beside it empty, as the moon rose high above the earth. "He thought the Hound killed Awaiti. I suppose none remembered it was I at that brawl." And not a long distance away, sat that Maleificar's corpse in a crude display, like some trophy. "A shame."

Dame Viktoriya glanced up from her desk as a bird delivers the leaflet, a brow poised in intrigue. After a good while of reading it, with a grin, she set it away and continued on with her work. "This Lord Mashal's pretty cool."

Reserved

Merchant’s Name: Dame Viktoriya I Goods being Traded: Alchemy, Trinkets Type of Trading (Face-to-Face or Display): BothIGN: TreeSmoothie Discord: tree#6885

That aforementioned Dame was working away in her lab in some kingdom far away, dutifully grinding down herbs for a potion, until she'd caught drift of the flier. She went to show it toward the Ork beside her, and then her guild as a whole, with a tired smile. "There are folk yet that will fight for me." She took a moment to mull over the statement, and shook her head. "Neicht for me. For humanity. Yam nie the only one suffering from these laws."

That Dame sat, sprawling out on her throne with a softened smile. Her arms tossed out, she muttered back, "It's been so long, Aeonn." As she reminisced, her arms bent inward. For a moment; a split second, as she looked to Aeonn, she began to tremble - like some fever dream had taken ahold of her. Nostalgia . . . Wretched memories of some Daemon. Still, and for forever, she'd have those scars and pentagrams scrawled along her flesh - evidence of her suffering. As Viktoriya stared at Aeonn, she shook her frown away and chuckled; "I'll make vy proud." Though, all the same, a coincidence it could coincide with what the behemoth uttered.

♪♫ [Click for the quotes' music!] 5th of Vzmey and Hyff, 378 ES [5th of Godfrey's Triumph, 1826] , the old dame, sat slumped against her overgrown desk. Blood trickled from her nose and her lips were cracked; some bruised indent sat atop her forehead, like she'd been hit in the head, and a jammed crossbow sat to her side. The space was in a disarray, and her mind the same as her glossy eyes started at the wall. Lavish furniture was tipped on its side, vines growing through them and breaking the leather. Paintings were torn. Someone had broken in and made a mess, even before she could. "I know you may not be feeling . . . The same way I am - sweetheart, you're mine and now our lives are all planned!" As she made haste toward her room she'd made, memories of her service washed over her like a fifty-foot wave cresting some unfortunate shore. Multiple failed attempts on her life-- The infernal war and the campaigns she lead-- Her husband, Old Captain Sir Alaric DeNurem, and their long-dead comrades-- Captured by Demons for two years, a proper long story-- The destruction of Helena, and the voyage to Almaris. It all burned at the back of her mind. As the missive for her banishment was sent out, in place of woe, she felt spite. Seventy five years of service in the army, knighted by the old Emperor; dozens of achievements among those in the century she'd existed, she lived a hero among her comrades. A fiend behind her veil of misdeeds, only known to her; but a hero. And those years of paradise were swept away, soon after. "Nobody needs you. . . . The way you know I DO, forget what they say, let's start our lives anew." The Fifth Brigade had been taken first; her dignity swept and her will to fight dwindling. But there was hope - there was hope, she was sure. There always would be. She could still climb her way up, things would have been fine. She descended into a madness that she hadn't felt ever before. The walls had ears, no one was to be trusted, and each of her comrades sought to kill her, she thought. One false step, and that step would be her last into a lake of cold water. And she had, at last. "Oh darling, I'm not so sure about our hearts aligning, at sixteen years old, could this have been bad timing; puppies pinning?" Then, had come her service in the Imperial Army. She was discharged on account of her degrading mind. "Yam neicht degrading . . . Yam . . . Give me a chance. GIVE ME A SECOND CHANCE! PLEASE!" Her pained howls shook the room, as blue-clad lawmen busted through the doors. Like Major Othaman had been apprehended at his retirement; they were here to claim her, as well, like wicked reapers. The three that'd hosted the Court Martial refused her to be taken, but the lawmen still had their way. Before she was told of her crimes, she was put on trial against the world. "Listen to me sweetheart, you are nothing when we're apart! I can promise you this;" The trial dragged on for hours. The court room was packed, and the air was heavy. Her lawyer, Patrick O'Rourke, fought for her like a soldier on his last breath. It wasn't enough. For her child wounding a Hanseni boy, it was suggested she be hung in the child's stead. Like a dog. It was suggested she be slaughtered. "When we split the town . . . You won't be missed." In some mercy, she was fined several thousand and banished. She scrambled to get her belongings, and now, where she stood, she could hear folk coming to fully throw her out. No, she would leave on her own accord. In the few thirty years they'd settled on Almaris, she'd learned the Bastion like the back of her hand. She looped from her room, toward the War Room, and back down, descending into her labs to snag the last of her belongings. So, left a single note before the Bastion, held firm by a wad of Jailor's Moss. "Good-bye, comrades. Farewell. This injustice shan't be forgotten, and these wounds will ever bleed on. I've found peace with the family my child wounded, in a mere agreement of some hefty sum of service & repayment with Ruslan. The Hanseni are reasonable; yet the Orenian law is not. The Orenian Law purges good folk and ensures the soldiers they lead are brainless, unknowing, and abused. We had plead the trial be ended - I was never told my rights, their reason for arrest, nor the case at hand. But the Orenian law ignored it and took my life in turn. In Memoriam of Sofia Teufel, in Memoriam of Heath Linnord. In memoriam of the veterans I had lead that died or have gone missing amidst this terrible chaos in this Saint's week. If Oren does not mourn, I surely do. Take heed. Good-bye, Dame Viktoriya."

Based lore +1

That exiled Dame, as she passes, wonders who in the world these priests that are mocking her. She'd never met them, certainly! She continues on with her walk, sighing to herself as she headed on toward the frozen wastes. "Vhat loons. It varms my heart in this tundra knowing my lawyer still fights. Stand strong."

Dame Viktoriya sits in her office, allowed some extra time to gather her belongings. Yet, she sits still. The old knight is looking down the barrel of a crossbow, her hand fastened around its handle.

The Once-Captain, Ensign Dame Viktoriya, frowns at the lack of recognition as she nears her 100th year in the ISA. "Damn. S'ppose being captured by daemons fer' 2 years n' serving for a whole century ain' enough."

Yeah! I like that idea, and the limitation. A hard limit should defo be done, though, esp since it's a base azdrazi ability and azdrazi are p numerous

I feel like polymorphs should be given a limit, along /w making them less perfect. i.e. puffs of soot from their mouth, darkened eyes, dull talons, ashy skin. Still pree based but weird /w the infinite disguises.

Captain Viktoriya, slobbering like a hog after ten shots, slumped over the table with a snort. "Thhey thouh' they coul' . . . Win?" that drunken woman snorted, biting back choice words. "Mmrmm . . . Took 'am leng 'nough for - hic - . . . Tah' trea'ee."

SURNAME: DeNurem FIRST NAME: Dame Viktoriya ADDRESS OF RESIDENCE: Imperial Bastion YEAR OF BIRTH: 1743 Are you registered and eligible to vote in the Providence District? Yes Do you have any other title, peerage or military service that may conflict with becoming a Member of the House of Commons, as per the Edict of Reform (1763)? No If yes, do you understand that you will be required to resign or abdicate from this position should you be elected to the House of Commons, and if this does not occur your seat shall be considered to be vacant?: Yes ((MC NAME)): TreeSmoothie

"Why are their heads backwards in the painting?" muttered some God-fearing husk of armor. "Also, I see a woman in that picture. They can't be more than 1 Q away from the female! Outrageous!"

"OH? 2,701."

RP NAME: Cpt. Dame Viktoriya deNurem T. IGN: TreeSmoothie Amount: 2,502 Discord: tree#2018

Somewhere in the city, in its back corners, embers glowed against the ivory-white walls. Ash swirled and banked into the air, swarming the sky like a plague of locusts. A Lord sat on its throne of char.