Dominika Kovač Pignatelli
Female | 23 | Lorenzia
Scion of Metal
"She's quiet for a Scion, a bit plain, more than a little strange, but she's nice, she's reliable, and she doesn't cause much trouble."
"Each metal has a certain power, which is different from metal to metal, just like people, just like Scions, I suppose."
Holy Sigil Location
Dom bears the holy sigil, the mark of the goddess on the back of her left shoulder.
A coiled spring of muscle hidden beneath loose garments, Dom cuts an assuming figure. Measuring at the lower end of average, she rarely stands at her full height, hunching over one project or another. Pragmatic to her very core, she keeps her black hair short, never letting it reach much further than the top of her shoulders. Were it not for the gentle advice of her mother, her priestly mother, she'd cut it shorter still. Her eyes are the grey of carefully worked metal, steel orbs that shine brightly with curiosity and bursts of nervous energy. Left to her own devices, Dom has a habit of acquiring fresh cuts, modest bruises, and minor burns as she plies her craft. Touched by the sun and grime in equal measure, her skin is a pale shade typical for those Lorenzians hailing from the north.
Even under the careful care of her new minders, Dom has only allowed herself to be gently nudged away from her favored fashion of oil stained overalls to tasteful suits and the exceedingly occasional dress.
Quiet, introspective, and with a head full of metal, Dom is a young woman caught in a strong current that she has found herself utterly unprepared for and that she is struggling to navigate. She is no blue-blooded aristocrat raised to inherit a position of power and full of grace. She is no wealthy merchant's daughter steeped in privilege and carrying the knowledge of an upper-class education. She is no brilliant socialite poised to take over the world with charm alone. She is no hero, no great warrior or powerful mage threatening reality.
Dom would say she that she was, still is, a nobody, another busy worker bee. Once she toiled away in the shipyards of Lorenzia, earning a a days worth of wages, and trying to keep tight deadlines. And now she works for the people of Gaia, for the Church, and most importantly for the Goddess. An artisan, of the decidedly industrial sort, Dom is hardworking. She's kind. And she is the right person for the job if it comes to building a ship. She could be the right person for the job of Scion. She hopes. Not all the stories are about impressive and mighty figures, surely sometimes the world just needs a commoner like her?
Dutifully religious, Dom is an orthodox believer, steeped in the traditions, venerations, and superstitions of old. Few would accuse her of being a great theologian or particularly inspired when it comes to matters of faith, but she is no fool, she simply prefers not to ask difficult questions. She is unwaveringly obedient to her religious advisors, particularly the templar assigned to her.
Despite being grateful and incredibly honored that she has been chosen by the goddess as the scion of metal, Dom cannot help but feel more than a little overwhelmed by her new station. She is anxious to please. Desperate to do the right thing. And terrified of making a mistake. Under pressure, chiefly when acting in her capacity as scion, she feels great doubts and is painfully unsure of herself. In such moments, to her own great shame, she finds herself wishing for her old, simpler life.
Still, Dom is not one to give up. She holds to the view that her own feelings are not important. She feels that the dark fears that assail her must be faced with an open heart. And she believes, she wants to believe, that it is her duty as a Scion to overcome the challenges placed before her.
Dom was born in Pogona, a bustling coastal city in Lorenzia, known as the Shipyard of Estora.
The oldest child in a struggling artisan family, Dom inherited a long legacy of labor claimed by untold generations of shipbuilders. Her ancestors, near and far, were artificers said to have built the ships that sailed across the world since before the age of sail.
Times had changed by her birth, her family had fallen on hard times, and Dom grew up in a household on the verge of constant financial ruin. It was only through the largess of a wealthy Lorenzian merchant, Madame Agnelli, that Dom reviewed an education. Among the other impoverished children of the docks, she learned reading, writing, and her numbers.
Guided by her grandmother, a wizened artificer, Dom was taught simple, utilitarian magic, the sort of pragmatic spellcasting vital to shaping metal. She started small, bending small bits of metal, mere trinkets. She progressed to smashing respectably sized pieces of metal into bigger pieces of metal and then what could pass as vaguely useful shapes.
In her eighth year, she was apprenticed to a friend of her father, and sent to live in his small workshop. There she flourished under his kind tutelage and after years of hard work proudly attained the rank of journeyman shipwright. Encouraged by her relatives, she joined the metalworking guild, Mythril, led by Ilya Nicolov.
Leaving behind her childhood, she found her teenage years and early adulthood to be pleasant. She grew into her form, her hands became nimble and strong. She relished her work. She held no great aspirations. Simply to earn enough money and approval to be received in the guild as a master craftsman. Her dream was to one day rise to the lofty position of chief shipwright of a reputable shipyard. She wanted to build great ships that would sail the seas. And then she would retire to enjoy the pension due to a senior member of the guild. Her humble plans, her lazy daydreams about her future were dashed by an unexpected event far beyond her control. She had heard, of course, of the regretful passing of the Scion of Metal, but like most she did not trouble herself with such great matters.
Dom had more pressing concerns to occupy herself with. She had a ship to finish building. The first in a new line of high speed transport ships that were to be powered elusively by mana. A ship so novel that the Doumercians had forcefully insisted on providing their own engineers to ensure that the Lorenzian workers did not skimp on the quality of their work. A new, horrible deadline loomed over Dom and her small crew. She could feel the master shipwright breathing down on her neck at every moment. The shipyard had no desire to pay the hefty late fees the Doumercian lawyer had skillfully woven into the contract that owners had signed. And so she pressed on.
Disaster struck on the third day of the sea trials, when a bank of experimental mana batteries, installed by the Doumercian engineers exploded without warning. The shattered metal should have cut her to ribbons, should have left her nothing more than an ugly scattering of red paste and unrecognizable pieces on the engine room floor. Instead the metal fragments reformed in front of her, forming a half sphere that shielded her from the metal and flames that hurtled across the compartment.
Dom emerged unscathed. She didn't understand it. She knew she shouldn't have survived, but she was live, somehow, improbably she was live. Trying to find any other survivors she did not notice the mark on her shoulder. How could she? It was one of her subordinates that spotted it. Mistaking the still glowing symbol for flames, he half drowned her with a torrent of water before he realized his mistake.
Accompanied by the few survivors and a retinue of esteemed shipwrights, Dom journeyed to the nearby Cathedral of Sargosia to seek answers. There a priestess examined her and solemnly declared that Dom's survival was no lucky accident and no strange twist of fate. No, the priestess confidently declared, it was the Goddess herself that had blessed Dominika Kovač Rebula and who had mercifully saved her with her own hands. In a loud ringing voice, she proclaimed that Dominika was the new Scion of Metal. Honored beyond words, Dom nonetheless felt her heart lurch with a sudden pang of fear at the woman's words, she kneeled . Hours and days passed in a whirlwind of activity and religious fervor. She received a visit from the High Cardinal. She met the templar she soon learned had been assigned to protect her. And she was initiated in the mysteries and knowledge of the Goddess required from a Scion. There was much to learn. There were manners and social skills to master in record time, a difficult task even with the help of several stern matrons. There were functions to attend, more functions than Dom cared to imagine. There were rituals to observe, rites to perform, and media to talk to. And there was more to do still.
Months passed quickly and Dom found her life much changed for the better. She exchanged an old name for a new one, leaving her paternal surname Rebula behind, taking instead the celebrated name of her adoptive father, the Baron Giovanni Pugnatelli, a sharp man keen to cement his legacy by ensuring that the people of Lorenzia did not lose claim to their scion. She joined her new father in Ornell, residing with him in his lavish manor. She was presented with fine clothes. She was given free reign to purchase whatever materials she desired. She was handed the keys to a large workshop, her own workshop, full of excellent tools, and staffed by a steadfast assistant. And she never had to go to bed hungry.
For all the joys of her new existence, Dom found herself full of doubt. She would not have dreamed of questioning the Goddess. She would not presume to dare to challenge the Incepta’s wisdom. Still, by her own measure, Dom viewed herself as an odd choice for a Scion. Wracked by anxiety, she has buried her fears in her metal work, fighting sleep consumed by new fears of failing to live up to the grand stories she has heard of her saintly predecessors.
Finding herself a poor tool for the Goddess, Dom wishes only to do what she can, the small good she can truly accomplish, paltry as such feats might be.
Weapon of Choice
Dom carries a corrosion resistant and weatherproofed multi-tool on her person that she could conceivably use as a weapon. However, at the urging of her templar, she has also begun to carry a revolver chambered in a large caliber. Lacking any particular firearms training, Dom's chief strategy in combat is simply to drive off any attackers with a series of ear-shattering bangs, aiming and hitting is for templars.