[img]http://orig15.deviantart.net/1da7/f/2014/033/b/4/armored_elf_bust_by_arsinoes-d74s7bv.jpg[/img]

[i]"Guilt is the source of sorrows, the avenging fiend that follows us behind with whips and stings."[/i]
-Nicholas Rowe

[b]Name/Nicknames:[/b] Unknown, though she typically goes by Vigilance, the Hound, or another alias ((Her actual name is Narcissa Veclis))

[b]Race:[/b] Ljosalfr Wyrmblood

[b]Age:[/b] Vigilance stopped counting after her four-hundredth birthday ((She's five hundred years old))

[hider=Appearance]
Despite looking like a long-eared human in her early thirties, Narcissa Veclis is quite old for an elf. Signs of her true age are easy to spot if one knows where to look. Without a doubt, her hair is the most obvious indicator. Her once red locks are now the color of newly-fallen snow, and the she-elf tends to wear her hair short. She occasionally braids it tightly to her head for important events or whenever she needs to impress someone. Narcissa is also rather tall, standing at about 6'2" and has a slender build with no curves to speak of. The only exception to this is her wide hips, an unwelcome gift from her mother's side of the family. However, Narcissa's body is still toned and fit thanks to years of training with her uncle, her time as an SSPD officer, and her ongoing war against the criminals of Santa Somabra. Her toned physique grants her a wiry strength and agility far beyond what most people would expect from an elf her age.

While still possessing the otherworldly beauty inherent in all elves, Narcissa's face has recently acquired crow's feet and frown lines. The wyrmblood rarely bothers to cover these blemishes. She's 500 years old and her movements are growing stiffer with each passing year. Why hide the obvious?Regardless, Narcissa's skin is only slightly darker than her hair, which makes her look almost wraith-like and ethereal. This impression is only heightened by her cold, unforgiving gray eyes. Humorously, the light elf woman has dainty feet for someone with such an ominous appearance.

When embracing her "work persona", Narcissa dons a suit of form-fitting leather armor made from cured ogre hide, which is capable of stopping several bullets before rupturing. It's also mildly flame resistant. This black-dyed armor was made especially for Narcissa by a dokkalfr living in Santa Somabra's Red Light District. Supposedly, the she-elf bounty killer liberated the craftsman's daughter from the Gilded Cage, a notorious whorehouse owned by the Nyctari family. Whether or not this event actually occurred is debatable, though the elf known as Vigilance is rumored to have a long-standing feud with the bloosuckers. At any rate, this set of hand-crafted armor includes a chestpiece, gorget, bracers, gloves, belt, leggings and boots. The dark elf, who may or may not have been the renowned Mankar Deslandra, also reached out to a friend and procured a black linen cloak for his daughter's savior. Coupled with her twin pure iron swords, which belonged to her late uncle, and her dual pistols, Vigilance radiates an aura of deadly poise and self-confidence capable of making even the boldest thugs nervous. Of course, the elf doesn't go anywhere without her trusty silver flask dangling from her belt.

Perhaps the most terrifying aspect of Vigilance's "uniform" is her death mask, a ceramic veil cast in the shape of an elven skull. Traditionally, both light and dark elves place these masks over the faces of their deceased kinsmen to prepare them for the afterlife. Wearing one at any point prior to death is considered offensive and tasteless. Narcissa doesn't give a flying goblin's ass about such superstitious nonsense anymore. Whenever she's acting on behalf of the Bloodbloom Syndicate or prowling the streets in search of prey, her face is covered by a death mask.

Amusingly, Narcissa can often be seen wearing non-brand t-shirts, jeans, and sneakers when she's not slaughtering her way through Santa Somabra's underworld. Only her mistress, Nyxvira Bloodbloom, can command the ljosalfr to wear anything approaching formal attire. Last but not least, Narcissa's low-range soprano voice has an archaic English accent, and she often peppers her speech with antiquated words and sayings.
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[hider=Personality]
Unlike most elves, Narcissa isn't necessarily elitist, though this isn't because she thinks the lesser races have something worthwhile to offer. She still believes dark and light elves are superior to everyone else. As a wyrmblood, however, the bounty hunter has been persecuted by her own kind, including her mother, since she was young. She's seen how far elves will go in the name of keeping their blood pure. This has forced her to admit that most of her people are intolerant, pompous, and cruel at the best of times. Furthermore, Narcissa is smart enough to acknowledge the accomplishments of others despite her belief that an elf could've done a better job. Still, the constant fear of prejudice and rejection has warped the way the she-elf interacts with others. She doesn't trust people. Trust leads to complacency, and Narcissa knows she cannot afford to let her guard down for even one second. That's how you wind up face down in a gutter in the Red Light District.

Now, several years after the tragic death of her lover, Myranda Tavellan, the ljosalfr called Vigilance has decided to try opening up again. Within reason, of course. Unfortunately, it's not going particularly well.

Part of the problem is the elf's very presence seems to give off an air of glacial indifference and unfathomable loneliness. Not many people want to spend time with someone like that. Her tendency to drink and smoke to excess whenever she's depressed doesn't help her situation at all. Unfortunately, Myranda's death also soured Narcissa's already pessimistic worldview, and what passes for the light elf's sense of humor reflects this change. Her jokes are cutting, sarcastic, and occasionally vicious. In addition, Vigilance appears to lack any empathy whatsoever for the many people she's hurt while pursuing those unfortunate souls wanted by Santa Somabra's criminal elite. Many people believe the elderly ljosalfr is an unfeeling, heartless monster. She'll loyally serve whoever is willing to give her the most money for a job while simultaneously killing as many drug dealers, slavers, and hired guns as possible. Along with anyone else that gets in her way. After all, what better way to cleanse the city that took Myranda from her than from the inside? At least, that's what she told herself when she swore an oath of fealty to Nyxvira Bloodbloom three years ago.

Truthfully, Narcissa is constantly wrestling with the overwhelming guilt brought on by the Great Fire of 1985, a disaster she caused that left an entire city block in ruins. Over 200 people were killed, including Myranda Tavellan, and the Somabra Clock Tower was burned to the ground. The light elf copes with this by drinking, smoking, and trying to convince herself that she returned to Santa Somabra to redeem herself. How? By destroying the formidable gangs running amok in the streets. By slaughtering the most treacherous and monstrous individuals she can find. By offering up 200 blackened, corrupted souls as penance for the innocent men, women, and children she killed. Of course, seeing her activities as a righteous crusade is much more appealing than facing the painful truth. Narcissa wants to die. She returned to the place where her last chance for a better life perished in hopes of dying a hero's death.[/hider]

[hider=Biography]
Narcissa was born on March 5th, 1519 to Althea Veclis and a dragon masquerading as a ljosalfr near the city of Truro, Cornwall. Narcissa's childhood was unpleasant to say the least. After her husband left one night without warning, Althea began drinking heavily, and she blamed Narcissa for the loss of her lover. Her favorite insult to throw at her child was "wyrmblood," a slur referring to Narcissa's mixed parentage. Beatings were frequent and often ended with Althea sobbing into a bottle while Narcissa lay bleeding on the floor. Unfortunately for the elven girl, her mother maintained a small farm beyond Truro's outskirts so visitors were few and far between. Besides, who wanted to deal with the town drunkard and her timid, red-haired daughter? There were times when Narcissa felt trapped, like a princess in a fairy tale, and she desperately wished someone would rescue her.

Shortly after the light elf's 100th birthday, everything changed.

A ljosalfr named Celebron Rommath, a merchant from eastern Cornwall, came to visit Truro under the pretense of selling high-quality bolts of cloth and spices to the cityfolk. In truth, he was actually following a rumor. A rumor about a young elven girl with hair the color of an open wound. Red hair was a sign of impure blood among elves. Specifically, that dragon's blood flowed through that particular individual's veins. Upon arriving at the Veclis farmstead, Celebron was horrified to see Narcissa out in the fields, helping her mother with the animals and crops. All half-elves were abominations, but the gifts possessed by wyrmbloods made them incredibly dangerous. Celebron knew he had to act.

After being invited into the house for the midday meal, Celebron made a few casual, insulting remarks about Althea's home, hoping to provoke Narcissa into using her powers. It worked. The enraged light elf girl nearly set the stranger's head on fire. As Celebron ran screaming from the house, Althea, who'd always known what her daughter was, ordered Narcissa to leave and never return. The truth was out, and it was only a matter of time before the elves living in Truro decided having a wyrmblood living so close to the city was a terrible idea.

The year was 1619, and a terrified Narcissa was forced to abandon her home as a mob of pitchfork and torch-wielding elves descended on her mother's farm. Althea's last words to her daughter were, "You will never find peace here in Cornwall, my little halfbreed. Find a ship bound for the New World, stow yourself somewhere onboard, and go to Jamestown. Seek out my brother Bardolan. Tell him...tell him you're his niece, and I am certain he'll take you in. Now go before I decide to offer you up to this rabble." Reeling from the unexpected loss of her mother, the frightened wyrmblood tried to hide in the woods near the farm, but Celebron and his followers pursued her. The hundred-year old light elf struggled to reach the small port of Newquay, and then hid herself aboard a fishing vessel called [i]The Princess[/i]. The irony wasn't lost on the miserable child as she sobbed quietly amongst the barrels of pickled herring in the cargo hold. She may have escaped from her mother's house, but at what cost? Narcissa was still considered a child in the eyes of her people. How could she possibly survive this?

The voyage across the sea was difficult, but Narcissa finally reached the bustling settlement of Jamestown, Virginia. After spending a week wandering the streets, she stumbled upon the smithy run by her uncle, Bardolan "The Grim" Veclis. She told him what had transpired in Cornwall, and the elderly ljosalfr wordlessly took her into his home. He then promised to take care of her to the best of his ability before returning to his forge. Once she'd recovered from her journey and felt capable of dealing with her situation, Narcissa began helping her uncle with his work, learning a little about the blacksmith's trade in the process. She also discovered that Bardolan was one of the few remaining elves who knew how to shape true iron, which was also called blue or pure iron. Capable of cutting through almost anything, excluding mithril and other rare metals, pure iron was impossible to manipulate without the proper technique. Luckily for Bardolan, he'd trained with some of the finest weaponsmiths and swordmasters in the world.

Three weeks after Narcissa's 110th birthday, her uncle took her aside and told her there was something he needed to show her. Bardolan guided his niece to a small chamber at the back of his house, which he normally kept locked, and opened it, revealing what appeared to be a training room with various true iron weapons hanging from the walls. "It is time, blood of my blood," the old elf said, his dark green eyes shining with delight. "For me to teach you how to defend yourself. Like me, you do not possess the gift of magic, which separates us from other ljosalfar. Also, you are a wyrmblood, which means others of our kind will always try to hurt you. I refuse to let this happen to my sister's daughter. It is time I began teaching you the Caramag, the Wind Song." 

Thus began a challenging and rewarding phase of Narcissa's adolescence. Under her uncle's less-than-forgiving gaze, the ljosalfr woman practiced the fifty intricate movements of the Caramag for at least six hours every day. Initially, she used wooden sparring swords Bardolan had made for this exact purpose some time ago. By the time the first snows fell in the winter of 1764, the she-elf was executing [i]The Goat Leaps Skyward[/i] and [i]The Hand Falls Silently[/i] with twin blue iron blades. For the first time in her life, Narcissa felt like she was in control of her own destiny.

And then what came to be known as the American Revolution began, and the elves living in Jamestown did what they always did in difficult times. They blamed anyone whose blood wasn't pure for the chaos engulfing Virginia. Thankfully, Bardolan had anticipated this, and he'd secured a place for himself and Narcissa aboard a caravan heading west. The two light elves spent the journey studying the Caramag as well as discussing the finer points of elven history and lore. This was, without a doubt, one of the happiest times in Narcissa's life. The caravan finally reached the ramshackle town of Last Meal in Utah on a rainy morning in 1785. Mainly comprised of refugees, vagrants, and mercenaries, the settlement was filthy and nearly lawless, but it was far removed from the bloodshed of the Revolutionary War. 

Time marched relentlessly onward and, unfortunately, in the year 1800, Bardolan came down with a nasty case of pneumonia that refused to go away. Fearing for her uncle's life, Narcissa did her best to keep the fire in their meager hut lit, and she even resorted to using her powers so she wouldn't have to leave Bardolan's side. One night, the fire went out and Narcissa could not light it again. Her pyromantic talents refused to obey her desperate commands. A few hours later, Bardolan "The Grim" Veclis passed into the afterlife. Narcissa was too poor to afford a death mask for her beloved uncle.

Struggling to keep her head above water by doing odd-jobs for the townsfolk, Narcissa kept up with her training even as the world around her continued to change. A month after the Civil War started, Last Meal had grown to such a ridiculous extent that people began clamoring for its name to be changed. Last Meal was far too prosperous now to bear such a pitiful moniker. After a great deal of useless arguing and several brutal fistfights, the name "Santa Somabra" was chosen and that was that. A new age had begun.

At some point during this tumultuous period, Narcissa developed a taste for potent drink. And women. Perhaps it was her way of coping with Bardolan's death. Perhaps she was just tired of dwelling on her past mistakes and failures. Perhaps oblivion was preferable to the drudgery of her day-to-day life. Either way, the 346 year old elf was simply going through the motions until she met a blonde ljosalfr on the run from some troubles back home in England. Her name was Myranda Tavellan, and she was the most beautiful woman Narcissa had ever seen.

The courtship between the two was somewhat awkward, especially since Myranda was much more open about her sexuality, but they eventually became lovers. Of course, they never expressed their feelings for each other in public, because they knew their fellow Santa Somabrans wouldn't understand. Still, between Narcissa's limited knowledge of metalshaping and Myranda's uncanny knack for finding copious amounts of cheap alcohol, the two elves made enough money to survive. Inevitably, they decided to open a small bar. What else could they do with such atypical skill sets? The Laughing Maiden was never particularly popular, but it provided the two light elves with everything they needed to prosper in Santa Somabra. 

Life seemed to be going well for the lovers until Prohibition hit in 1920, though Myranda was convinced they could easily turn the Laughing Maiden into a restaurant. This turned out to be a difficult proposition. Especially when a group of vampires calling themselves the Nyctari showed up, demanding protection money since the Laughing Maiden was in their territory. Myranda knew Narcissa was a wyrmblood, and there were no patrons in the Laughing Maiden during this unexpected visit. Despite these factors, Narcissa managed to avoid using her pyromancy and drove the bloodsuckers off with the Caramag alone. It wasn't enough, unfortunately.

In the spring of 1945, the Laughing Maiden was burned down, and nobody was willing to admit they'd seen anything out of the ordinary. It didn't take a genius to realize the Nyctari weren't going to tolerate two elves working in their domain free of charge. Desperate and angry at how corrupt their hometown was becoming, the two women decided to join the Santa Somabra Police Department, promising each other they'd never let this happen again. Initially, the couple did fairly well, though their relationship became somewhat strained as more and more cops began working for the various crime syndicates. Myranda saw nothing wrong with looking the other way if it meant the couple would stay wealthy and safe. Narcissa, on the other hand, refused to condone this, and she became known as one of the few officers that couldn't be bought. Over the next few years, a strange gulf started to grow between the two light elves, which only prompted Narcissa to resume drinking and take up smoking. The lovers would sometimes go entire nights without speaking to each other.

It all came to a head in 1985 when Officer Veclis got a tip that a Demon's Blood deal was going down in an abandoned warehouse near the Somabra Clock Tower. 

The light elf policewoman was stunned to find her lover there, shaking down a Bloodbloom Syndicate hobb in hopes of getting every last drop of Demon's Blood he was carrying. Myranda was an addict. Narcissa realized now why her partner had been so willing to "look the other way" whenever the gangs were involved. It was how she got her fix. Enraged and hurt by this betrayal, Narcissa was shocked when Myranda threatened to tell the entire SSPD that she was a wyrmblood if she didn't keep quiet. Narcissa had done a decent job of keeping her heritage hidden from the other officers. If the rank-and-file knew the truth then there was a good chance her career with the SSPD would be over. Few elves would be willing to work with a halfbreed. Seeing how totally the city had twisted Myranda was too much for Narcissa to bear. 

For the first time in years, her temper got the better of her.

The Great Fire of 1985 destroyed the prosperous Silver Expanse and the Somabra Clock Tower, creating a region of the city now known as the "Burned Block." Over 200 people perished and Officers Veclis and Tavellan were assumed dead, though most of the bodies recovered from the scene were burned to a crisp. In truth, Narcissa fled Santa Somabra, repulsed and guilt-stricken by the carnage she'd wrought. No matter how far she ran, however, Narcissa couldn't escape her memories. Dreams of blue flames, Myranda's screams of pain, and the stench of burning flesh filled her nights and made it impossible to sleep.

In 1995, the elf returned to Santa Somabra and began thinking about how she could atone for what she'd done. A possible solution came to her when she recalled something Bardolan had said to her years ago. "The ljosalfar swordmasters of old believed that if you made a mistake then you had to pay for it. No matter what." Santa Somabra was sick, and getting sicker all the time, as gangs and the corrupt authorities they controlled ran roughshod over innocent men and women trying to make a living. At best, the commonfolk were destined to be extorted and used by these lawbreakers. At worst, they would suffer an unspeakable fate once their usefulness ended. Unless somebody did something.

Finally, Narcissa decided it was time to act. She was going to offer up the souls of 200 criminals as penance for causing the Great Fire of 1985. It was the only way she could think of to "pay off" the debt she owed. Maybe then she would know peace. Or at least be able to sleep again.

Using her remaining contacts in the city, Narcissa established herself as a proficient bounty killer with a penchant for breathtaking swordplay and a decent understanding of short-range firearms. At first, she killed criminals for anyone who could pay her. Even other criminals. Sometimes, she just killed because she could. She tried to avoid harming innocents or pissing off anyone important, but there were times when it couldn't be helped. As time wore on, she gathered more and more information about her various employers. Every major player in Santa Somabra could make use of a competent hired gun, and Narcissa was exceedingly competent. The only group she refused to work for was the Nyctari, though the ljosalfr refused to tell anyone why. The image of the Laughing Maiden burning still haunted Narcissa's dreams.

And yet, for all the drug dealers and pimps she butchered, Narcissa's guilt continued to drain the pleasure from her days. Truthfully, she felt worse and worse with each contract she completed. The awful memories of her past misdeeds were now joined by a host of nightmares revolving around the atrocities she committed on behalf of Santa Somabra's criminal element.

After finishing a lucrative job for the Reapers in 2015, Narcissa bought a custom-made elven death mask from a mortuary near Crooked Alley. It was time to stop feeling guilty and start embracing the woman she was becoming. Otherwise, she wouldn't survive. Donning the death mask and calling herself Vigilance, the light elf did her best to cast aside her old self completely. The dreams still tormented her, but she tried not to dwell on them anymore. If she was going to redeem herself then the past needed to stay in the past. Whenever she felt overwhelmed or depressed, the ljosalfr drank or smoked until everything went numb. Vigilance became a known and feared name amongst the criminals of Santa Somabra, transforming the nearly 500 year old light elf into a veritable boogeyman. There were also stories about how she'd saved the daughter of Mankar Deslandra from a brothel and left baskets of food for the orphans living in the Narrows. Obviously, these charitable acts received much less attention than her bloodier escapades.

When the Martovanni Family and the Reapers fell in 2016, Narcissa had already sent 150 corrupted souls to the afterlife. She even helped guide several influential Martovanni loyalists to their final destinations over the course of the Canoness affair. However, once she saw how much power Nyxvira Bloodbloom amassed after conquering the fallen family's territory, Vigilance fully appreciated just how dangerous the faerie was. It was time for a bold move. Besides, it was one of the Bloodbloom Syndicate's hobbs that had provided Myranda with her Demon's Blood fix. Narcissa approached Nyxvira and offered her an oath of fealty, swearing to only work in the best interests of the Bloodbloom Syndicate. The faerie accepted, and Narcissa appears to be completely loyal to her new mistress. What better way to lull the obese queenpin into complacency before gutting her like a trout?

The year is now 2019, and the light elf from Truro, Cornwall finds herself standing beside Nyxvria as her favored enforcer and bounty killer. While Santa Somabra tries to weather the storm unleashed by the Somabra Slayer killings, Vigilance wonders if she's doing the right thing. If she's ever done the right thing. Because, if she's completely honest with herself, the list of differences between Narcissa and the people she hunts seems to be getting shorter and shorter. When does the woman dedicated to hunting monsters become one herself?
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[hider=Other]
-[i]Wyrmblood[/i]: What does it mean to be a wyrmblood? This term is generally used to describe a child born from the union of an elf and a dragon in mortal form. It's also a nasty insult since questioning the purity of an elf's blood is akin to shouting "Bomb!" in a crowded movie theater. Startling and completely unacceptable. Over the years, numerous people have died horribly after demeaning the heritage of a dark or light elf. To be a halfbreed is to be an abomination in the eyes of elven society. Therefore, it's not uncommon for elves with impure bloodlines to avoid discussing the details of their upbringing. 

Unfortunately, being a wyrmblood adds an extra challenge for a halfbreed to overcome. Each one possesses a formidable gift, which is essentially a type of emotion-based pyromancy. These elves gain the ability to direct flame as long as they're experiencing intense anger, sorrow, and so forth. The main restriction, beyond the need for a strong emotion to be present, is only an existing fire can be manipulated. No wyrmblood can conjure flame from nothing. Another interesting facet of this unusual ability is any fire controlled by a wyrmblood turns a brilliant shade of blue. As soon as the emotion empowering the elf fades, however, their talent gradually recedes. 

Still, summoning walls of teal-colored flame, launching darts of blazing agony at their foes, and surrounding themselves in a fiery aura are all within the purview of those with draconic blood. It's also worth noting that all wyrmbloods are born with bright red hair.

-[i]Caramag, "The Wind Song"[/i]: The Caramag, which means "Wind Song" in the ancient elven tongue, is both remarkable and unusual. Created many millennia ago by ljosalfr born without a connection to the mystical arts, this technique is comprised of fifty "movements."  Each one is meant to emulate an animal, gesture, or some other natural occurrence. The only major limitation is the movements must be performed with one or two swords. Originally conceived as a way to give those lacking magical talent an edge in battle, the Wind Song eventually transformed into something more. It became a method for training the next generation of light and dark elven swordmasters, talented warriors obsessed with perfecting their bladework. Bardolan the Grim was one such individual and, during his youth in Crete, he was taught the fifty movements of the Caramag by a dokkalfr swordmistress. Before his death in 1800, the elderly light elf passed on everything he knew to his niece, Narcissa Veclis.

While the she-elf can now use edged weapons in ways most people cannot imagine, the Caramag doesn't allow her to deflect bullets or slash tanks apart. It does, however, give Narcissa the ability to slice off limbs and tear flesh with all the ease of ripping paper. Each movement of the Caramag is capable of killing someone if it's used in the proper context. For instance, [i]The Goat Leaps Skyward[/i] is a high jump followed by a vicious downward chop, which is driven by the momentum gained during the initial leap. This movement not only allows the swordmaster or swordmistress to close the gap between themselves and their adversaries, but it also a devastating executioner's cut. All of the fifty movements can be used in various ways, granting those who practice the Caramag unparalleled control over the battlefield. As long as they can reach the enemy. Sadly, with the advent of firearms, the Wind Song has fallen into disuse, though there are still several swordmasters scattered across the globe. Some have even begun to adapt the Wind Song's movements to handle foes armed with long-range weapons. 

-[i]Elven Senses[/i]: It may not seem as impressive as her pyromancy and knowledge of the Caramag, but Vigilance also has the keen senses of an adult ljosalfr at her disposal. She can hear the sound of someone's heart beating on the other side of a brick wall. It's also nearly impossible to poison her, because Narcissa can tell if there's anything unusual in her food or drink after one mouthful. If her tongue doesn't alert her to the lethal substance's presence then her nose will. All elves have superior senses compared to the lesser races, and those dwelling in Santa Somabra rely on them a great deal to survive. Failing to pay attention in this city usually has lethal consequences.
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[hider=Duty and Justice, the Swords of Vigilance]
[img]https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/1d/87/cb/1d87cbe69d808388f6fb78e2d8e44bc3.jpg
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[hider=Elven Death Mask, the Face of Vigilance]
[img]http://i.imgur.com/L0bck.jpg[/img]
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[hider=The Guns of Vigilance]
[img]http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9j1zIK-YOkM/Ue9PYWKwjeI/AAAAAAAACk0/uM0guGEOa1U/s1600/jakobs_pistol.png[/img]
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