Welcome to Gaia! ::

Rules
--Anyone may enter to win one of these babies (unless you have an apprentice).
--Entries must be posted in this thread
--If you win, a trade of 25k must be sent to the mule as payment.





Entries
dovelybird
Yvelissa

...

Prompt FS
Username: I AM WOE
Which child: Dovaa
Which prompt: Prompt #1
Character's Name: Sajjana Indra
Prompt Response:

"Don't panic, it's really not that much blood."

Sajjana's eyes are wide, an innocent gleam sparkling within their lavender depths. Her full lips are tilted upwards into a knowing smile that most could pick her from from a crowd by, as though the blood leaking from the gash in her arm were nothing more than a scratch; nothing but a slight glimmer of liquid upon her rose-brown skin. She tilts her arm away from her companion, so he could not see the severity of her wound. She could get it wrapped up, find a way to wash her clothes, hide it beneath long sleeves... her parents would never know, not so long as this- this boy kept quiet.

Who is this boy, anyway?

By the way he cowered, she could think of him only as unimportant. Just another little imp. Sajjana realized her chin was lifted upwards and evened it out again, so she was looking the other boy in the eye and not downwards at him. Her father always warned her against doing such a thing. She had a tendency to look... well, a bit snooty he would say.

Her parents were kind people, known- in fact- for their kindness. They faught valiantly- non violently- against the general injustice brought forth by the prejudice of the warring races. They were as sharp and cutting with their words as a swordsman might be with his sword. It helped, too, that they were of noble lineage. That they had married and almost immediately given birth to such an adorable little girl. The perfect example of a true Dovaa. It helped, too, that they had money- influence. They were intelligent, strong-minded. They convinced. And while they were, truly, good people...

Sajjana often grew tired of the charade she herself had to play in order to appease them. She was not as kind as they wished her to be, not as neutral as they would have liked to raise her. She had opinions, and she was just as smart as they were- if not smarter. Her emotions flared and sparked like flames crackling in the night. She could not sit and watch as her parents did, she could not just speak out against injustice... she lashed out. She wanted to join the fight that her parents chose only to support.

And her parents loved her for it. But, too, they feared for their young girl. They did not want something they held so precious to meet the pain or suffering that the world of the outside could provide. They kept her close. It was rare for her to leave their estate; and though she had many interactions with the various servants and visiting do-gooders that traipsed about their lawns; she felt that she needed more. So much more.

And thus that was how, on this pink-colored morning, she found herself trapped in her current... situation. Unbeknownst to her conscious mind, she had begun glowering at the boy whom she had- now- identified as one of her parent's servant's son. All those that were employed beneath her parents were offered a home here; and while some did not accept, others did. This Orderite boy was one of them. He'd once been a slave to an Oblivionite-run brothel, but Sajjana's parents had set him and his mother free. Sajjana had not heard him speak a word to her since he'd arrived 7 1/2 months ago. He'd caught her clambering back over the far fence of her mother and father's large estate. The one shrouded in thorny shrubbery, with dark green vines clambering up the stoneclad wall; and a stone that had a jagged edge, on which Sajjana's arm had met its fate.

Pain lances itself up and down her wounded appendage, fueling her impatience towards the boy who refuses to speak and only cowers. "You mustn't tell anyone of this, understand?" She articulates her words powerfully. Her fists find their way to her hips as she leans towards the poor Oblivionite lad. The pain in her arm momentarily forgotten in all her seriousness. "If they know of my arm, they'll wonder what happened, and they'll know it didn't happen while I was being a good little girl like they want me to be. They'll know I was climbing the wall because a gardener caught me once before and told." Her eyes narrow further. "The gardener is no longer with us." She left out that the gardener had raised enough money working for her parents to lift himself from poverty, buy his own home, and open his own florist shop in the next city over. Instead, she fills that part of the story with her stare.

It's enough. The younger boy is obviously frightened. Again, Sajjana's chin drifts its way upwards; and her eyes follow the path of her nose to his wide-eyed gaze. "Well?" She spits, eyes like lavender-colored flames. "Aren't you going to speak?"

-[What am I called?]- Cleora.
-[What will I be?]- Battler.
-[Who am I?]- One of the first things that people tend to notice about Cleora is her cheerfulness. She's constantly wearing a broad smile, flushed cheeks, letting out sudden bursts of unexpected and inappropriate laughter...it's actually a little bit unsettling, when you get right down to it. It's as if she's been trained to always present that happy face, whether the situation calls for it or not - especially when the situation doesn't call for it, in fact. She doesn't even show any signs of remorse when shushed or scolded for it, though that might be due to the confidence that rolls off of her in waves. She doesn't need your approval. She's already shaped her own personality, her own sense of style, everything. To hell with your gothic style, your depression about your lack of afterlife, your anger at any race that isn't your own. Isn't that just charmingly...basic? Why would you let something as silly as your genes dictate who you are to become? Cleora is nocturnal as well, will rarely come out in the daytime if she can avoid it. It's less a skin sensitivity issue and more of her not wanting to interact with people who desire to change her, shape her, manipulate her, just like they have the rest of her race. But she only sneaks out rather than strolling right out the front door whenever she pleases. Her rebellious streak is still young, regardless of her confidence. She's still aware of her youth, after all, and the fact that she's completely supported by her own family. She's already odd enough. If she takes more than a few steps out of line with those pretty heels of hers before she's ready to face the consequences, there's no telling what sort of unfortunate history she might write for herself.
-[Where have I come from?]- Cleora can count on two hands the amount of times she's been in the same room with her parents for more than fifteen minutes at a time. She's only ten years old right now, so that's...one for every year, maybe? Depressingly accurate. Her parents are wealthy Oblivionites, living in the middle of Obsidian City on the money from the unexpected boon that her great-grandparents on her mother's side had in the Silver Creek Mining Camp years and years ago. Now their money is primarily tied up in investments relating to the Great Engagement - weapons, armor, magical tomes - and require so much of their attention that there are times they barely seem to remember that they have a daughter. Cleora's personality was shaped by her butler, her nanny, and the maids and cooks who live in her manor, and it was her nanny especially who drilled one solitary thought into her mind: "May Soudana curse your parents, little Cleo. You've no need of them to grow strong. In time, if you commit yourself, you'll surpass them - you'll be greater than either of them combined."

Her butler is responsible for her desire to be a battler, though, when he caught her punching one of her pillows the night of her seventh birthday - yet another celebration spent alone with her staff attending her - with such anger and ferocity that feathers were exploding from it. The next evening he led her out to the garden behind the manor, through the complicated black-and-purple hedge maze, where a turn to the left that she knew to be a dead end led straight to a tall, thick bag filled with black sand dangling from a tree. He simply pressed a blunt bat into her hands and stepped to the entrance to the area to guard it as she released every inch of rage and anger into it until her arms were throbbing and she could no longer hold the bat. Only then did she approach him with a broad, pointy smile and lace their fingers together, walking with him back to the manor.
-[What will I do]- Cleora has two obvious paths she can travel down in the future: continue on her cheerfully sadistic path or be diverted into something a little softer. It's going to depend on the kind of people she meets along the way! In terms of her imprinted weapon, though, she'll be choosing a blunt weapon, and will more than likely slowly shift from the forcibly put-together rich city girl that she is into a looser, cruder barbarian, and will gleefully rejoice in how much she's going to embarrass her parents from the sight of blood all over her finely tailored clothes.

-[What am I called?]- Vesper Nyx
-[What will I be?]- Battler
-[Who am I?]-
extroverted - Uncomfortable in solitude, Vesper seeks out the company of others where she can. She is sensitive to social nuances and body language for her age, and she tailors her expressions to the situation. And she can't certainly resist drawing others into her latest adventure. By her reckoning, there's hardly any fun in having an adventure by yourself.

fastidious - Raised in the luxuries of an aristocratic home, Vesper is very particular in her tastes and expectations. She wants everything just so, and she definitely doesn't want a mess, metaphorical or literal, on her hands.

manipulative - Vesper believes implicitly in her ability to shape any situation into one of her liking, so she takes every opportunity to turn things to the advantage of her family or herself, whether it means a little lie here or a knowing omission of facts there. Even those closest to her might be manipulated once in a while, if she feels it's for their own good.

vain - Despite Vesper's own manipulations, she is not entirely immune to manipulation. Where appeals to reason or honor fail, a well-placed compliment could convince her to oblige. As a rule, compliments to her intellect or skill tend to be more effective than compliments to her appearance.

-[Where have I come from?]-
A young aristocrat shocked society when he flouted expectations and married his actress paramour. Vesper was born two years after the scandalous marriage. As she grew, her loving parents lavished attention and affection on her.

Her parents' hopes for a son persisted over the next half a dozen years, ending only when death claimed Vesper's mother in childbirth. Though Vesper's father mourned his dead wife greatly, financial concerns overcame sorrow. He charmed a naive young heiress of substantial lands and riches into eloping with him.

Once the dust had settled from the ensuing scandal and legal kerfuffle, it was not a happy marriage. The groom's charm swiftly evaporated once his bride's wealth was in hand. He spent the money freely on improving his own estates and supporting the arts. To Vesper's disappointment, her father stayed at the family manor less and less. Even the birth of twin boys a year after the wedding could not tempt him home more often.

For her part, Vesper was prepared to welcome her reserved new stepmother into but found the woman rather tedious, full of gloom and tears and lamentations. In her father's increasingly frequent absences, the girl tried to draw her stepmother out of her reclusive shell, with limited success. Not so with her younger brothers -- Vesper doted on the twins as her parents had once doted on her. The boys are hers to shape, with their parents withdrawn into their own preoccupations, and she intends to guide them to greatness.

-[What will I do]-
While Vesper is still in her apprentice stage, her stepmother will die of a sudden and painful illness, and her father's political enemies accused the recent widower of having murdered his second wife to marry even more advantageously. The resulting fall-out will fuel Vesper's political ambitions and lead her to redouble her combat training as an emotional outlet.

I could see her eventually joining an existing information/spy network or building one for her own purposes.

Soudana created Oblivionites to be weapons of war, and Vesper intends to be a perfect one, even if it means dirt and sweat and grime. At least, that's the theory. Outside the training grounds, her fastidious nature will likely be a combat liability for herself and for any allies fighting by her side until she grows out of it. Flinching at a handful of thrown dirt or hesitating for even a second by a muddy patch could have nasty consequences in the heat of battle.