Cohors

Kingmakers: The Throne Alone (A Medieval Fantasy Succession Crisis)

Just checking you're okay with playing two characters. Also, Elay's current husband is just an NPC right?

@ClocktowerEchos

Aye to both. I just assume most people beyond marrying age are already married (Artyr included), but they're by all means irrelevant.

Kingmakers: The Throne Alone (A Medieval Fantasy Succession Crisis)

Marcher Lord Artyr III Mythricane

Name: Marcher Lord Artyr III Mythricane, "the Barbar"
Titles:
Description: Standing just ten centimeters short of two full meters, Artyr's presence is hard to come unnoticed. Equally difficult to miss is his far-stretching keloid scar that runs from his nose up to his left ear, a reminder of the damages a nomad can do to an Adanian man, as well as his leathery eyepatch that hides his blinded eye. A lean, built and tall man, Artyr could be charming if not for his receding hairline - at the young age of 37! - and unremarkable facial structure. The Sun gifts men with strength and the Moon, women with grace, but never the opposite, as they say, and for the Mythrian siblings that seems to be the case. Well, at least he can crack a fine smile.

Claimant: Anyamara. She's strong and action-oriented.

House Mythricane
The Borders, our Duty"

Reputation: A reckless, fierce, and highly respected warrior. But as a Marcher Lord, Mythrian nobles think lowly of him - faceless whispers roam Mythre a man as ugly and savage as him has to be a barbarian by blood, illegitimate and unfit to be a ruler; he's a puppet of the cunning Lily; he belongs in the steppes killing barbarians and not ruling the civilized people, et cetera. Artyr views those rumours with sarcastic contempt, as he often sees things in life, but he makes his point very clear that the mere thought of insubordination will be met with a scimitar slash to the throat. His words, not mine... a bit too straightforward, wouldn't you say? Mythrians are known to be frank, but even them are shocked with Artyr's candidness from time to time.

Ambitions: Artyr has always expressed his admiration for King Adendum, and he desires to emulate, if not downright surpass, his legendary campaign by conquering by fire the endless barbaric West, although it wouldn't be unfair to interpret his megalomaniac intentions as an excuse for a never-ending life within the anxiety, excitement and chaos of the battlefield.

Aptitudes:

The Western school of war - Used to the sea of grass of the Timeless Steppes and the vicious horsemen that therein inhabits, time taught Artyr the ways of the nomads. He's well versed in common nomadic raiding techniques and maneuvers, cues and tweaks on how to kill atop a horse, how to aim mid-gallop, swinging curved blades, the general geographic characteristics and influences of the plain grasslands biome that may affect a battle, and many other minute details that makes him a barbarian in all but blood (... and sedentary lifestyle. And manners).

Equinacious - His experience in horseback riding makes him a highly skilled and deadly horseman, capable of confronting nomads as an equal. Certainly the best cavalryman in Mythre, considering he's the only one that was attacked by a barbarian and managed to return home and live to tell the story.

One with the arrow - From a young age his aptitude with the bow was something marveled upon, and years upon years of training and thousand upon thousands of arrows fired made his gift even more significant. There's something about Artyr that makes him intrinsically good in archery. Maybe it's his rudimentary and intuitive notion of weight balance and distribution, aerodynamics, force liberation, pattern recognition to predict his target's movement, the intense emphasis of archery on Mythrian culture or maybe - most likely - all those combined.

Gymnast - Strength is certainly important, but not the only factor in combat. Being able to move your body swift and efficiently are equally relevant aspects which are often overlooked in professionalized armies, but on tribal, ritualistic groups as the nomads often are they're considered key elements as much as being buff. With a lot of training, pain and injuries along the way, Artyr overcame his typically Eastern stiffness and acquired an enviable overall mobility. Along the natural imposed demands of being a horseman, his general physical aptitude wouldn't stray far from a modern day's gymnast.

Spatially located - Men who trek through the endless grasslands west of Adanion either end up lost, missing, hunted, killed and flayed, or back, safe and sound. There is hardly any exception. And the only way to be the latter is to be very, very good in identifying where things are at, distance, and a general acute sense of geolocation and observation. Whether this is a skill or a talent is anyone's guess, but Artyr certainly has it.

Resilient - Artyr is a tough-as-nails sunovagun who can take a lot of mental and physical stress before breaking.

Vulnerabilities:

Adrenaline Junkie - Artyr's biggest shortcoming is, by far, his hedonist, thrill-seeking nature. He often volunteers to partake dangerous and unsavory situations just for the kick of it, 'cause nothing in life feels as good as that adrenaline rush when your life is on the line.

Warmonger - Whenever there's room for violence, war, or conquest, he will opt for those choices. And when there are none, he'll create them.

Impulsive - In a one-to-one combat there is no room for hesitance or meticulous planning, you either do something or you is left to respond to your adversary's doing. Artyr prefers to be the first, both in the battlefield and in his personal life, and as such he doesn't tend to think of his actions nor his words thoroughly.

Half-faced - The slash that scarred his face left him one ear deaf and partially blind. It's not that his eyesight doesn't work - he still retains some depth perception when using both eyes - but it's a blurry, unreliable one, to the point he prefers to simply block it with an eyepatch.

Unsightly - A man with a horrific scar such as his is no nice sight to see, especially if a man looked like Artyr before being scarred...

The Eastern school of war - Hilly terrains, dense forestry, straight bladed swords, swordfight in confined spaces, sword-and-shield approach to combat, and all your typical Adenian military tactics are things diametrically opposite to everything Artyr trained for, and as such, he's no better than an average Eastern infantryman.

Easily swayed - Wondrous imageries can really marvel Artyr. With extraordinary claims and a bit of charm, it wouldn't be difficult to convince, or at least sway, the Barbar into a specific line of thought.

A pawn rather than a leader - Some men are born to command; some, to be commanded. Artyr is definitely the last. He's not fit to be nor interesting in being a commandant, a diplomat, and much less an administrator. Too much responsibility, bureaucracy, and too little fun.

Additional Info: Inherited the march two years ago.

Domain Info: Mythre (informal) / March of Mythricane.

Considered the "last bastion of civilization before the ocean of barbarians", Mythre stands as the westernmost region of Westmarch. Towns are rather equidistantly scattered apart, usually garrisoned by pikemen and a few archers, and are intertwined to the capital, Partitava, through well-guarded supply lines (usually patrolled by cavalry), a large fortress where the bulk of Mythrian ranged and mounted forces sit. Lacking adequate communication from the rest of Westmarch's resource-rich regions, and lacking the purchasing power to even acquire such resources to begin with, Mythre scrapped armory and the famed winged Westmarch adornments for a much more mobile horseback archery specialization, to the point they can face toe-to-toe the nomads. (A dozen or so of cavalrymen opts to go heavy, and they're usually members of the most endowed families after Mythricane). And since hunting is still a primordial form of subsistence, archery is a tradition, and it's hard to find a marcher peasant who can't kill someone or something with a bow. Another notable characteristic is the employment of pikemen in choke points such as gorges and city entrances, human chevaux de frise that are an impregnable obstacle when used correctly. One of the few hamlets in Mythre, Argimpasa, is in essence a conglomerate of various stud farms, home of the reputably enduring and agile Argimpasan breed that makes up a large chunk of Mythrian armies.

Lady Elay Mythricane, the Lily of Mythre

Name: Lady Elay Mithricane, "the Lily of Mythricane"
Titles:
Description: As tall as the average Mythrian man and as lean as her brother, pale skin, black, voluminous hair in a spectrum french bob bitter tongues would call tomboyish, delicate lips, cheekbones starting to get prominent, round face and a penetrating green gaze, Elay could pass as being a decade younger and garner strangers' sympathy with her unassuming and innocent semblance. Let it be stated that she's a few years younger than his brother, believe it or not. However, a perceptive eye - a very attentive one indeed - could probably notice the emptiness in her stare. A rather shocking revelation, most likely, how could someone so adorable play such a manipulative façade?

Claimant: Anyamara. Her iron fist is admirable.

House Mythricane
The Borders, our Duty"

Reputation: The fairest lady of Mythre. Well such claims are hardly objectively accurate, so take it as you will. She's also known to be charming, kind, well spoken - a Charismatic Negotiator - and to know how to push's one buttons.

But...

Elay knows it. She hard heard them before. Figures in the dark. Shadowy voices say she's a farce. They claim to see beyond her amicable mask and stare at an evil spirit that is anything but lovely. A perfidious and perverse demon willing to do anything and ruthlessly shatter anyone in her path to whatever are her objectives. They say her brother either knows it and shares her malevolence, or is a clueless, naive bastard - not to different from Elay's husband, who is most definitely a cuck at this point - and another mere pawn at her sickening game.

Ambitions: Peace. To rest her arms on the topstone of the impervious Partitavan walls and watch the tall grasslands extent as far as her eyes can see, without having to check her shoulder for a spy of some sort sneakily approaching her for a swift backstab. And the only way to do that, naturally, is to control others. No freedom to plot. And who controls more than the Loyce? Whose throne is as powerful as theirs? She needs that.

Aptitudes:

Gift of Gab - It is difficult not to be enthralled by Elay's eloquence and charm. She has a way for words and dealing with people that never ceases to spellbind the candid people of Mythre.

Diligent - An obsessive, goal-oriented mind never ceases until the job is done. Many things may not make sense for her, and she will work her ass off until they do.

Cue observant - Restless legs often indicate stress. Avoiding eye contact, discomfort. Repeating oneself in a more stark throne, impatience. Gleaming eyes, hope. A barbaric horde charging at a pace far slower than usual, a diversion attempt to buy time. Elay is overly perspective and frequently notice untold details in everyday interactions.

Good tactician... - It is on moments of stark pressure that Elay exhibits her ingenuity and reflexes. Cornering her is challenge as she always seem to have a perfectly plausible reaction to perfectly implausible situations.

Vulnerabilities:

... and terrible strategist - Elay just can't see past the carrot in the stick. She hardly ever comprehends the bigger picture and her long-term plans are poorly stitched and schemed.

Hardly the sharpest tool in the shed - While she can observe details and gather more non-verbal information than most, Elay doesn't process them nearly as well. It takes time for her to comprehend elaborate schemes, and the world in general seems a hazy, illogical place, which also helps to exacerbate her paranoia, and make her predictions not exactly reliable.

Paranoia, paranoia, everybody's coming to get me... - Distrustful of people's intentions, seeing ulterior motives in every action, the overwhelming sensation of being persecuted and spied upon... Elay just can't get a break.

Tangible apathy - How good of an actor can an actor be? She may swindle most with her charisma, but very observant eyes are capable of noticing a rather empty dissimulation in... pretty much everything about her.

Additional Info: The only person she doesn't mistrust is her brother, Artyr. She knows the man is as transparent as glass.

Domain Info: Also the March of Mythricane.

Panau : Superheroes in a South American Warzone

I wanna go full black ops government agent with it. An absolute spook on that Cold War, regime toppling shit.

@Jarl Coolgruuf

So basically a typical 60s CIA agent.

If this is still alive, I'm interested.

Blades of the Blood Coast

Still accepting, jolly good fellas?

Abysstide: New Atlantis (high-powered apocalyptic urban fantasy RP) [CLOSED DUE TO INACTIVITY]

A wind of change...

Whether of serene woods or the smothering man-made jungle, men are always embedded in a symphony of melodies they're perfectly acquainted with. The chirping birds, the blowing grass shrubs, the turbulent streams, the gentle murmur of TV characters at low volume, the humming of current transformers, the voice of casual passers-by, the distant white noise, mishmash of all sorts of anthropic sounds, there's always a sweet (and sometimes sour) sound. Sometimes there is too auditory blank - many enjoy stillness especially if they are creatures born or bred to appreciate deep introspection.

Yet there is no acquaintance or parallel that can prepare one for this damp new world. The silence is unforgiving, and the sounds, even more so. There are very very few of them. That of a faraway pulse. That of viscous flow. An almost pitch-black atmosphere. Every now and then, a deep growl of non-carbon based lifeforms. Shrieking freaks gargling whenever they see fit. Unintelligible wails of semi-sentient beings. Tormenting. Ambiance built to torment. A world built to torment.

But Eulalie felt it was cathartic.

At first she thought she had finally died and was thrown in limbo. But, after sighting the iconic New Atlantean Spire, it was clear this was no afterlife trial for the kingdom come. She was perhaps delirant, but definitely alive. Eventually, she recalled the truth-promising nymph and it all clicked - that entity had something to do with all this.

Provided this was no coma or maddened fever dream - and since she had a clear train of thought and sensorial capabilities, it was safe to assume she was experiencing neither of those - she was hand-picked by a semi-deity to unveil what now is clearly a supernatural mystery. And she was imbued with wicked eldritch magic. Her superiority, her potential, her true nature, finally someone, or something, acknowledged it all. No more judgement. No more vapid societal norms. No more medications, emotions, treatments, shackles from her true self. Alone, away from the scrutiny of men's ethics. Freedom? Did it take a voyage to hell for her to feel free?

The howls of sorrow… of those wretched things. Certainly they could disembowel her with ease, but she could do the same to them, and no one would bat an eye. Whether she died or whether she murdered she would have no one to answer but herself. Terrifying, yes, and also cathartic. Freedom to blaze a path as she seemed f-

... swept away.

Gunshots. Pow. Pow.

Pow.

Were the tar-sodden freaks capable of wielding firearms - better yet, from the timbre of the bang Eulalie could tell, handguns? That didn't matter. Even if they could - which they obviously couldn't, right? - why would them? Their bodies stray far beyond the biological constraints that make bullets effective. Handguns wouldn’t be useful. Shotguns or exploding projectiles, may’haps, but not pistols. That... that must mean one thing, then... only one thing... one goddamn thing.

I'm not... I'm not fucking alone.

Standing there, in the middle of the road, Eulalie sighed. Of course that bitch would call other people, what were you thinking, Eulalie? Not even in a surreal post-apocalypse could she be by herself. And if there's another individual, then most certainly there many others as well. Who knows - maybe dozens, maybe hundreds. A new society, perhaps? Mankind to, once again, populate a twisted realm a sadistic deity threw them into?

God, she wished she was in limbo instead.

The Black Prophecy (Dead now; requiescat in pace!)

~~Oopsie~~

The Black Prophecy (Dead now; requiescat in pace!)

Still open & possible to catch up?

Abysstide: New Atlantis (high-powered apocalyptic urban fantasy RP) [CLOSED DUE TO INACTIVITY]

A nauseous scent...

Since Eeltje's very first breath she felt her tongue go slightly numb. The stench in the air was hard to describe. Not disgusting as that of organic rot, instead, more akin to a chemically unpleasant compound, inherently yet inexplicably repulsive. Kinda like the awful combination of synthetic leather and cheap, aged car fresheners, or the strange cleaning products interstate bus companies use to drench their closed-circulation vehicles in an unshakable odour that no amount of foodstuff or bathroom flushes could overcome (perhaps for the best). Differently from those mundane situations though, Eeltje just couldn't acclimatize. It had an underlying... influence. Smells are associated with memories. And Eeltje's memories were mostly corrupted, disfigured, unstable, sombre and unsettling. Feelings she didn't even know she could feel were slowly blossoming. Despite her conscious effort, her uvula wouldn't be overpowered. It was prevailing. Her esophagus loosened. The peristaltic movements became more frequent. Her jaw tightened.

Oh god...

Her empty stomach didn't save her.

The cryptic sky...

Only then did she begin to inspect more minutely her surroundings with the dim lightning that the night sky provided. No, not night, because while the runic sky above her was mesmerizing and overwhelming like sidereal space, it was unnaturally oppressive, just like the scent in the "air". As she glanced around, she realized the surface was just as infernally whimsical as the skies. The "buildings" around her were littered with debris and encroached with pulsing (and fluorescent at times) vines. And rather bland too. Square, tar-drenched remnants. Two stores at best. They were honestly unrecognizable - much like one can't tell whether a deteriorated Paleolithic construction is a house or a shop, Eeltje couldn't make sense of the ruins.

She was quick to stand on her feet. Wherever she was, it was probably not the wisest idea to find shelter in the constructions, but it was better than lying in the open in the middle of the street like she was. Well, at least that was the procedure if a terrorist attack or an armed conflict took place (or so she heard; she was never caught in a crossfire). Carefully enough she creeped towards the street corner. Eeltje looked around. The brick wall behind her stretched for quite a while both east and west. (She just assumed her right meant east and her left, west). No street southwards, just northwards. Tar everywhere. Oozing from the floor. From the wall cracks. Defying physics, flowing freely, with colour eddies dancing on the pools much more swiftly than the substance's viscosity could allow. It was mesmerizing, too. The tar had its own strange, incomprehensible odour, so intense the sickening air paled in comparison. She felt strangely comfortable watching it. Hypnotized, even.

A deafening hiss...

You probably are familiar with this, a sensation that almost resembles a sixth sense. When the television is turned on, it emits a very high frequency pitch (well, at the very least, cathodic ray TVs used to). It is so subtle you can't quite distinguish it as television screen noise; instead, it's more of a pervasive emanation that your eardrums notice. You just feel it. Once it's turned off, the high frequency pitch - or, as we perceive it, this intuitive sensation - ceases as well.

Eeltje must've thought there is a huge television above her, then, because the sensation was overwhelmingly present. More like a tinnitus than a subtle pitch. But after that wet hiss she just heard - almost like someone was drooling and bubbling in their saliva - the sensation went from a television hum to a high frequency radar, perfectly snitching the hissing creature's position right behind the brick wall. It was certainly large - only an elephant could feasibly make a noise like that - and certainly a surreal aberration given her new abstract landscape and the... uncanny emanation its presence exhaled. Unless some unknown pheromone could transpire arcane malice, that creature was definitely a freaky thing.

Overwhelming might...

It's the adrenaline kicking in.

Yeah, it's most definitely the adrenaline. That's gotta be it.

The first time you feel a novel sensation, you can't quite put your finger on what's happening. Eeltje certainly couldn't. How would she? Her Monkey Mind ceased to wander in the sea of sensations and thoughts this new world triggered. She suddenly turned into a snake ready to pounce. Her reactivity increased tenfold.

It didn't make sense, though. How come her reaction to "some unknown creature is roaring its battlecry at me" is to activate fight mode? No, not even fight or flight mode. She was a hundred percent combative. Feral, in a certain way, although still in plain control of her mental facilities. How could Eeltje be so sure of herself?

I had no idea adrenaline felt like this.

It wasn't adrenaline. It was no human, or mortal even, feeling. No sort of biological or chemical reaction. It was something far more complex and incomprehensible, but which felt to Eeltje as familiar as the feeling of an adrenaline release. Well, perhaps it was a bit like adrenaline, except an unholy version of it. Nevermind that, though. Eeltje was not in a time to explore her newfound sensations. It was time to fight.

(But we, detached from her mind, and detached from her experience, can take a hunch. Lilith. The succubus' blessing. She must have infused or awakened something in Eeltje. She was self-confident and dangerous before her arrival in New Atlantis, no doubt, but she would never seek physical combat.)

And instinctively...

Just like a swordsman unsheathe his blade as his combat commences, or a soldier cocks his gun, Eeltje's hands started to fume. Thick, dancing, evil purplish black fog emanated voluminously from her hands. From the looks of it, it could as well be the gaseous version of this wicked world's tar looking fluid. Eeltje was aghast, as anyone would be if their body started to behave against their assumption of physiological normality. But the emanation felt so natural she realized there was no need for fear. Just like after a bath one finds peace watching their skin smoking water vapour, Eeltje accepted her smokey hands. And boy did they fume.

All of this - from the hissing to her hands' spontaneous reaction - took little less than ten seconds, but her exhalation already extended a few feet around her. She was quickly drowning herself in her own opaque gas.

Oh shit, oh shit, I'm blinding myself.

And right after her thought vanished the fog she created gently drifted to her sides. She was Moses with his staff and the gas Red Sea. By her sides it remained, behaved, as more and more of it was produced.

Huh? What the hell? That is... so neat.

Eeltje would probably toy around with her mist if the situation wasn't grave.

She took a few steps to the east, away from the northwestern intersecting street, with her gas accompanying her accordingly. It has probably been twenty seconds by now and the hisser remained quiet behind the wall. What was he, dumb? Does he think he's concealed, away from Eeltje's perception? Why would he even hiss, rather than simply pounce covertly?

Wait a minute...

What must have felt like a sharp whiz rocketed behind Eeltje. Her augmented state of perception was able to notice that sudden advance, and while she managed to turn backwards, she couldn't protect herself from the huge cannonball...ish object that struck her. Well, in retrospect the impact was nowhere near being hit by a cannonball, but at the time it felt like it. Eeltje was blasted some few meters away from where she stood.

Whatever hit her, it was hurting her elbows, badly.

Actually, it wasn't quite hurting her elbows... it was, in fact, pressing them.

Two hands, mummified in pulsing tar veins, pushing Eeltje against the floor. That thing was right over her, with its scrawny 150 centimeters of pure tar seeping glory, hissing at stunning decibels right at Eeltje's face.

What the fuck

what the fuck

what the fuck

what the fuck

If Eeltje hadn't puked a few minutes earlier, she would definitely have right then. The acid warmth of the creature's sludge dripping over arms, chest and legs, its nauseating breath - tenfold the horrible scent of the air - and the concept of something that vile mounted over you was beyond terrifying.

And if that thing wasn't the crux of her situation she would probably have spotted a second entity in the background, climbing right over the brick wall, this a much bulkier figure, the creature her sixth sense had originally located.

Will you shut the fuck UP????

One can only assume the purpose of the whistling, um, attack must have been to stagger and immobilize the prey. But it didn't work against Eeltje. The hissing ceased and the thing collapsed by her side, with a protuberant black spike puncturing through his occipital to its forehead. To be fair, it was more of a jousting lance than a spike: insanely long and as thick as a wrist. Eeltje crawled back on her fours, part flabbergasted, part disgusted (brain bits all around - ewww).

Funny. She had just imagined some sort of pike blowing through the hissing thing's skull, and just like that it happened. She noticed half of her "summoned" smoke was missing, too. The other half remained obediently still next to where she was standing.

Did I.... did I do... this?

There was no time for an after-action investigation, though. The bulky freak seemed a bit horrified by the situation but its craving for Eeltje was much too strong. It advanced graciously over the wall - seriously! Its movements were fluid and silent, almost like a cat despite its body type more akin to a bodybuilder - ready to spring over Eeltje.

It must've assumed to be an intelligent idea to charge at her before she could properly process the situation. Maybe, right after such an odd chain of events, she would be paralyzed in confusion, unable to adequately respond to yet another oncoming threat.

WRONG!

Eeltje, as a good empiricist, wanted to ascertain she - and not some ethereal event of common occurrence in this strange realm - had caused the first thing's timely demise. And, instinctively, the second freak was the perfect Petri dish to test her hypothesis. She thought of a few javelins darting at the monster, and the magic happened.

The remaining mist, up until that point devoid of motion, swiftly spiraled into sharp cylinders and bolted towards the sprinting creature. She watched in amazement as, in mid-air, the objects' spectral semblance converted into something firmer.

Deposition.

In total, some seven projectiles were launched. Six of them missed their target - it was a moving object, after all - but the seventh fulminantly impaled its chest and shoved it to the floor to the other side of the brick wall. The being started to grunt uncontrollably. Eeltje couldn't make sense whether those were howls of pain or a summoning call for its pack.

It doesn't matter. If more come, I'll kill them too.

Eeltje remained by the whereabouts for a few minutes, listening to the sweet symphony of death. Part sadism, part self-realization. After all, she had singlehandedly skewered two surreal entities that could quite possibly lacerate a human being with less qualms and difficulty than a lion, all thanks to her newfound gas-bending, depositional powers. The monster's pain meant, foremost, safety. No matter what plane of existence she was - whether purgatory, hell, or some scifiey earthly dominion - she was not a prey. To think she was a predator was a bit premature and arrogant, but Eeltje did nonetheless.

I'm the killer. Like it should be.

Eventually, the air went silent. Eeltje smiled shyly. Suddenly, the smell was no longer a problem.

Abysstide: New Atlantis (high-powered apocalyptic urban fantasy RP) [CLOSED DUE TO INACTIVITY]

Eulalie Archambeault

Name: Eulalie "Eeltje" Archambeault Nieuwoudt

Age: 29

Gender: Female

Appearance: Pale skin; black, voluminous black hair in a spectrum french bob and what traditionalists would call tomboyish, delicate lips, cheekbones starting to get prominent, round face and a penetrating gaze, Eeltje could pass being a decade younger and garner strangers' sympathy with her unassuming and innocent semblance. And she knows it, so during her adult years she disposed generous amount of time daily with dermatological and other bodily cares to conserve her adorable looks. She's reasonably fit, nothing beyond an average (naturally-skinny) crossfitter. And while her clothing choices aren't so much fitting for her roles - it is not unusual for Eeltje to walk around with bland old tees paired with pastel floral skirts - she looks just fine with what she's got and, besides, she enjoys her marketing as a modest, humanitarian angel. Just smile warmly, wink, and the paparazzis won't mind the off-putting polka dot shirt.

Personality: The Japanese say you have three faces. No, that's internet bullshit, but let's pretend they do. The first face, Eeltje is affable and extrovert, and knows how to cause and manage a positive impression. Just like any "naturally charismatic" public figure, I'd argue. The second face, when wearing the first one becomes a burden, she becomes more somber and apathetic, and those who know Eeltje for her friendly semblance are usually startled by her frigid "nature". Her third face and true nature, however - when Eeltje becomes Eulalie - goes beyond that. A deep-seated mixture of fear and hatred for people, a platonic drive for appraisal, and a schizoid approach to empathy. She barely feels like a (neurotypical) human. An attention-seeking nihilist, you could say. And as such, she's extremely diligent and ruthless (there are very few things that can hinder her progress towards her goals; physical fatigue, workload or social normals certainly are none of them). A product of her early years' neglect and her natural antisocial personality disorder. The only thing that consistently snaps her out of her emotional torpor are remembrances of her parents (whether referring to them directly or indirectly, through her childhood memories), but it's best not to be next to her when that happens. That dark aspect of Eeltje, however, is mostly under control thanks to almost a decade of psychotherapy. But, under the strains of life-threatening situations... they might at last blossom.

Backstory:

P.O.B. Beirut, Lebanon

Daughter of a couple of French entrepreneur engineers who managed to settle with a nice lifestyle in post-war Lebanon, Eulalie lived an opulent and mannerly lifestyle as a strangely detached child, and that aspect of hers was augmented astronomically after an arson took her parents' life and she was left under care of an ill-funded orphanage as the bureaucratic machine sought, fruitlessly, familiars overseas, in France. Initially emotionless, other aspects of her personality - both as a coping mechanism and as a natural manifestation of her antisocial nature - eventually blossomed: she became more of an overachiever (going as far as learning Arabic virtually by herself) and, with that, diligent; neediness and manipulation became commonplace for her; and a cruel, rule-defying behaviour alienated her from her peers to the point she had to be transferred to a different orphanage to avoid further abuse (by both sides). There, Eulalie sought to construct a more positive image of herself despite her accompanying infamy, and it worked - a couple of wealthy Afrikaans philanthropists passing by Lebanon to monitor the ongoing Cedar Revolution visited her institution and fell in love with her (superficial) charm and industriousness. Eeltje was adopted and, acknowledging her troubled past, her new parents put her through a psychological treatment to manage her conduct disorder. It proved to be somewhat successful. She was indeed socially functioning and much less freaky; but her innate detachment and darkness endured, dormant in the depths of her mind.

Graduated from high school, Eeltje saw an opportunity to explore her natural theatrical abilities by working as a representative one of her parents' charities situated in, you guessed it, Lebanon (she has always been unhealthily obsessed with her homeland), and enrolled in a business bachelor at Lebanon's prestigious Adnan Kassar School of Business. Her college years were marked by accolades for her scholarly and philanthropic exertion, stellar grades, really awful relationships and suffocated cases of misconduct. Eeltje pressed on in the academy up to a Masters degree, and was underway of her PhD when shit hit the fan.

Since 2018, vague and suppressed denounces of human right violations in New Atlantis' supply chains began to be whispered ear by ear throughout the world of philanthropy. Of course, New Atlantis being the world's apple of the eye, very few resourceful folks were keen on thoroughly following leads that at the time seemed like fabrications to stain the symbol of multilateralism, and a pair of those handful of nonconformists just happened to me Mr. and Mrs. Nieuwoudt. They began to dig in and dig in with covert journalist and private detectives and all sort of stuff they had in their arsenal. And, just as seemingly unnatural political tension began to sprout in New Atlantis, the couple was invited by a representative of the Logistics Ministry of New Atlantis for a meeting in regards of their increasingly concerning investigation... and the lockdown happened and they never left, nor contacted anyone, ever since.

And, to up a notch on the eerie (and conspiratorial) factor, the Nieuwoudt family was a victim of character assassination, with most of their assets frozen (unlawfully, most likely) and the family's wrongdoings - whether slanders or buried truths - exposed to broad daylight. Eeltje was dishonorably expelled from her PhD and was threatened to have her business bachelor and Masters removed from her, but through her particular unorthodoxy and eloquence (threats, blackmail and defamation, mostly), she was able to retain those.

Now with only a measly fraction of the prestige and wealth she had one year prior, Eeltje got hellbent on digging the truth. She wanted to know what happened to her parents, why was their reputation assaulted, and she was willing to set New Atlantis ablaze or stir an international crisis if it was needed. But that wasn't needed. A mysterious, nymph-like semblance offered her a much more concise path to her goal. Now, in this world, Eulalie is to trail a way that's much more her type than any socially-complying strategy she could otherwise device.

Skills: Superficial charm. Charisma. Eloquence. Feigned empathy. Genuine manipulation. She knows how to sound nice. Diligence (a virtue or a skill? You be the judge). Extreme apathy, she could probably stab a baby if such vile act of degeneracy was necessary (and, once again, you be the judge). Speaks French and Arabic as a native, profficient in Dutch and English, and convesational in Afrikaans. In reasonable shape. Above average, but then again the average is overweight nowadays. Can probably do a pullup and sprint for a couple of minutes.

Abilities: Exhaling from her hands, Eeltje is able to "invoke" (materialize as a more physical term) a thick, black vapour with a similar semblance to a squid's ink, and manipulate its movement (and since it's a gas, by extent, its form).

Smoke as an active weapon

At her will, said vapour can be solidified, a process which takes mili-seconds, and too the solid object is controlled by her. (As a more tangible analogy, pretend the vapour to be water and its solid state ice, and think how water-benders could create potentially lethal ice weapons, projectiles, and etc.).

The process itself is not too subtle - when Eeltje begins to conjure said mist her hands starts to mildly emit said smoke (just like boiling water fumes vapour). She can then pick a spot (whether on a surface or on thin air) of where the mist would rapidly materialize and shapeshift into her mind's desire. Said spot cannot be too far from her, as that point of emanation and her hands have some sort of arcane connection. Since the gas (but not the solid) is conductive and inflammable, the mentioned invisible bond has two important implications: first, if the mist gets electrocuted, the electric current can and is transported to Eeltje; second, if it is set ablaze, it is likely the flames will creep up to her hands, albeit more slowly than a flow of electrons would. While it takes no mental effort to create or manipulate the mist, its solidified state can only be achieved through concentration; once her mind strays from the solid form, it returns to its gaseous state, this time however lacking any sort of bond with Eeltje- it is but purpleish-to-black, natural smoke.

While creating projectiles and darting at targets is the most eloquent usage of that ability, it requires a respectable amount of proficiency to shape them into an aerodynamics-friendly form and launch them accurately and at a damaging speed. Therefore, it is more common for Eeltje to construct golems or otherwise humanoid figures which behaves like marionettes, with actions controlled by her mind.

As a toxic gas

Just like Eeltje can force the smoke to become a solid, she can transform it into an debilitating fume. It behaves similarly to mustard gas (and is 14400 times more reactant) and its vesicant chemical burns (i.e. it swells the fuck out of anything it touches), with potential to cause some respectable physical impairments (such as third degree burns or temporary blindness).

As an environmental tool

Due to its physical properties the vapour can be used as a smoke bomb, although it would probably take a couple of seconds to perhaps a few minutes in order to generate sufficient smoke to conceal a reasonable area.

Metrics

Melee: 8
Ranged: 16

Focus: 8
Spread: 14

Burst: 5
Sustain: 16

Force: 8
Finesse: 17

Defense: 9
Agility: 15

Support: 0
Sabotage: 4

Abysstide: New Atlantis (high-powered apocalyptic urban fantasy RP) [CLOSED DUE TO INACTIVITY]

Eulalie Archambeault

Name: Eulalie "Eeltje" Archambeault Nieuwoudt

Age: 29

Gender: Female

Appearance: Pale skin; black, voluminous black hair in a spectrum french bob and what traditionalists would call tomboyish, delicate lips, cheekbones starting to get prominent, round face and a penetrating gaze, Eeltje could pass being a decade younger and garner strangers' sympathy with her unassuming and innocent semblance. And she knows it, so during her adult years she disposed generous amount of time daily with dermatological and other bodily cares to conserve her adorable looks. She's reasonably fit, nothing beyond an average (naturally-skinny) crossfitter. And while her clothing choices aren't so much fitting for her roles - it is not unusual for Eeltje to walk around with bland old tees paired with pastel floral skirts - she looks just fine with what she's got and, besides, she enjoys her marketing as a modest, humanitarian angel. Just smile warmly, wink, and the paparazzis won't mind the off-putting polka dot shirt.

Personality: The Japanese say you have three faces. No, that's internet bullshit, but let's pretend they do. The first face, Eeltje is affable and extrovert, and knows how to cause and manage a positive impression. Just like any "naturally charismatic" public figure, I'd argue. The second face, when wearing the first one becomes a burden, she becomes more somber and apathetic, and those who know Eeltje for her friendly semblance are usually startled by her frigid "nature". Her third face and true nature, however - when Eeltje becomes Eulalie - goes beyond that. A deep-seated mixture of fear and hatred for people, a platonic drive for appraisal, and a schizoid approach to empathy. She barely feels like a (neurotypical) human. An attention-seeking nihilist, you could say. And as such, she's extremely diligent and ruthless (there are very few things that can hinder her progress towards her goals; physical fatigue, workload or social normals certainly are none of them). A product of her early years' neglect and her natural antisocial personality disorder. The only thing that consistently snaps her out of her emotional torpor are remembrances of her parents (whether referring to them directly or indirectly, through her childhood memories), but it's best not to be next to her when that happens. That dark aspect of Eeltje, however, is mostly under control thanks to almost a decade of psychotherapy. But, under the strains of life-threatening situations... they might at last blossom.

Backstory:

P.O.B. Beirut, Lebanon

Daughter of a couple of French entrepreneur engineers who managed to settle with a nice lifestyle in post-war Lebanon, Eulalie lived an opulent and mannerly lifestyle as a strangely detached child, and that aspect of hers was augmented astronomically after an arson took her parents' life and she was left under care of an ill-funded orphanage as the bureaucratic machine sought, fruitlessly, familiars overseas, in France. Initially emotionless, other aspects of her personality - both as a coping mechanism and as a natural manifestation of her antisocial nature - eventually blossomed: she became more of an overachiever (going as far as learning Arabic virtually by herself) and, with that, diligent; neediness and manipulation became commonplace for her; and a cruel, rule-defying behaviour alienated her from her peers to the point she had to be transferred to a different orphanage to avoid further abuse (by both sides). There, Eulalie sought to construct a more positive image of herself despite her accompanying infamy, and it worked - a couple of wealthy Afrikaans philanthropists passing by Lebanon to monitor the ongoing Cedar Revolution visited her institution and fell in love with her (superficial) charm and industriousness. Eeltje was adopted and, acknowledging her troubled past, her new parents put her through a psychological treatment to manage her conduct disorder. It proved to be somewhat successful. She was indeed socially functioning and much less freaky; but her innate detachment and darkness endured, dormant in the depths of her mind.

Graduated from high school, Eeltje saw an opportunity to explore her natural theatrical abilities by working as a representative one of her parents' charities situated in, you guessed it, Lebanon (she has always been unhealthily obsessed with her homeland), and enrolled in a business bachelor at Lebanon's prestigious Adnan Kassar School of Business. Her college years were marked by accolades for her scholarly and philanthropic exertion, stellar grades, really awful relationships and suffocated cases of misconduct. Eeltje pressed on in the academy up to a Masters degree, and was underway of her PhD when shit hit the fan.

Since 2018, vague and suppressed denounces of human right violations in New Atlantis' supply chains began to be whispered ear by ear throughout the world of philanthropy. Of course, New Atlantis being the world's apple of the eye, very few resourceful folks were keen on thoroughly following leads that at the time seemed like fabrications to stain the symbol of multilateralism, and a pair of those handful of nonconformists just happened to me Mr. and Mrs. Nieuwoudt. They began to dig in and dig in with covert journalist and private detectives and all sort of stuff they had in their arsenal. And, just as seemingly unnatural political tension began to sprout in New Atlantis, the couple was invited by a representative of the Logistics Ministry of New Atlantis for a meeting in regards of their increasingly concerning investigation... and the lockdown happened and they never left, nor contacted anyone, ever since.

And, to up a notch on the eerie (and conspiratorial) factor, the Nieuwoudt family was a victim of character assassination, with most of their assets frozen (unlawfully, most likely) and the family's wrongdoings - whether slanders or buried truths - exposed to broad daylight. Eeltje was dishonorably expelled from her PhD and was threatened to have her business bachelor and Masters removed from her, but through her particular unorthodoxy and eloquence (threats, blackmail and defamation, mostly), she was able to retain those.

Now with only a measly fraction of the prestige and wealth she had one year prior, Eeltje got hellbent on digging the truth. She wanted to know what happened to her parents, why was their reputation assaulted, and she was willing to set New Atlantis ablaze or stir an international crisis if it was needed. But that wasn't needed. A mysterious, nymph-like semblance offered her a much more concise path to her goal. Now, in this world, Eulalie is to trail a way that's much more her type than any socially-complying strategy she could otherwise device.

Skills: Superficial charm. Charisma. Eloquence. Feigned empathy. Genuine manipulation. She knows how to sound nice. Diligence (a virtue or a skill? You be the judge). Extreme apathy, she could probably stab a baby if such vile act of degeneracy was necessary (and, once again, you be the judge). Speaks French and Arabic as a native, profficient in Dutch and English, and convesational in Afrikaans. In reasonable shape. Above average, but then again the average is overweight nowadays. Can probably do a pullup and sprint for a couple of minutes.

Abilities: Exhaling from her hands, Eeltje is able to "invoke" (materialize as a more physical term) a thick, black vapour with a similar semblance to a squid's ink, and manipulate its movement (and since it's a gas, by extent, its form).

Smoke as an active weapon

At her will, said vapour can be solidified, a process which takes mili-seconds, and too the solid object is controlled by her. (As a more tangible analogy, pretend the vapour to be water and its solid state ice, and think how water-benders could create potentially lethal ice weapons, projectiles, and etc.).

The process itself is not too subtle - when Eeltje begins to conjure said mist her hands starts to mildly emit said smoke (just like boiling water fumes vapour). She can then pick a spot (whether on a surface or on thin air) of where the mist would rapidly materialize and shapeshift into her mind's desire. Said spot cannot be too far from her, as that point of emanation and her hands have some sort of arcane connection. Since the gas (but not the solid) is conductive and inflammable, the mentioned invisible bond has two important implications: first, if the mist gets electrocuted, the electric current can and is transported to Eeltje; second, if it is set ablaze, it is likely the flames will creep up to her hands, albeit more slowly than a flow of electrons would. While it takes no mental effort to create or manipulate the mist, its solidified state can only be achieved through concentration; once her mind strays from the solid form, it returns to its gaseous state, this time however lacking any sort of bond with Eeltje- it is but purpleish-to-black, natural smoke.

While creating projectiles and darting at targets is the most eloquent usage of that ability, it requires a respectable amount of proficiency to shape them into an aerodynamics-friendly form and launch them accurately and at a damaging speed. Therefore, it is more common for Eeltje to construct golems or otherwise humanoid figures which behaves like marionettes, with actions controlled by her mind.

As a toxic gas

Just like Eeltje can force the smoke to become a solid, she can transform it into an debilitating fume. It behaves similarly to mustard gas (and is 14400 times more reactant) and its vesicant chemical burns (i.e. it swells the fuck out of anything it touches), with potential to cause some respectable physical impairments (such as third degree burns or temporary blindness).

As an environmental tool

Due to its physical properties the vapour can be used as a smoke bomb, although it would probably take a couple of seconds to perhaps a few minutes in order to generate sufficient smoke to conceal a reasonable area.

Metrics

Melee: 8
Ranged: 16

Focus: 8
Spread: 14

Burst: 5
Sustain: 16

Force: 8
Finesse: 17

Defense: 9
Agility: 15

Support: 0
Sabotage: 4